The Contract
by divine-firefly
Summary: au gensenshi fic. the lives of serenity, rei, mina, mako and ami, prominent political figures in a war torn world, are greatly disturbed when an unknown figure rips them from their surroundings and forces them into marriage with strangers. eight up.
1. The Arrival

The Contract : Chapter One  
  
Arrival  
  
Raindrops blurred the world outside the driver's windshield, disturbed by the rhythmic pulsation of the windshield wipers. He paid them little heed except annoyance, his focus on the road, on his car and his surroundings, which sang with luxury. The plush seat below him was warm, black leather that ignored the raging storm without. The compartment behind him was likewise heated and controlled. In the rearview mirror, as well as the screen mounted on his dashboard that displayed video feed from a cleverly hidden security camera, he could see that all was well in the back–the slight vibration of the wheels hadn't even disturbed the filled champagne glasses placed between the seats. He smiled. All was ready for his guests.  
  
On the road ahead, his passengers appeared. Five women--he frowned, he was only supposed to pick up two–stood huddled together on the sidewalk, clutching black umbrellas to shield from the rain. He could tell they were talking, but they stopped as soon as he pulled alongside them. With his right hand, he flipped the switch to lower the passenger side window. Leaning over, he spoke to them. "I'm here for Ms. Aino and Ms. Mizuno."  
  
One turned to look at him, his breath hitched in his throat and he couldn't seem to look away. This was the most perfect human being he had ever seen, with large, blue eyes and almost white hair that flowed to her waist, she carried an air about her of a peace so deep it could not be disturbed, a happiness so profound it could be touched by sorrow. A smile came to her eyes at his expression–he quickly schooled his face to it's normal calmness–and she murmured "A few moments, if you please?" It was hardly a request.  
  
Still, he thought later, a few moments was dragging on rather long. Five minutes showed on his wristwatch before two women turned to face him, their austere, impassive manner casting shadows over beauty rich as the first's. He pressed a button, and the door opened. "Get in."  
  
They shut their umbrellas, and stepped into the car. He noted, on the display, that both wore black. He almost thought of asking 'who's funeral?', but he knew the answer to that question, and he knew the normal travelers of this car did not much like conversation.  
  
The drive back to the apartments was as uneventful as the drive from them had been. The streets were hardly empty, even in this storm the city bustled on without a care. He smiled grimly. Even in the wake of a war, the people would not acknowledge their surroundings enough to let their lives be disturbed. Foolish, blind. He had no tolerance for them.  
  
The women behind him, he saw, seemed as unaffected as the pedestrians hurrying outside. Their drinks stood untouched, their hands folded in their laps, their legs tightly pulled beneath the seat. They did not speak, or so much as glance at each other. Both were lost in worlds of their own, beyond the windows through which they stared, beyond the car in which they sat, beyond the world that trapped them. He had known others like them. They were often sad, and he had never seen one smile. He pitied them.  
  
When the time came, when the destination slid up to them, he opened the door. They left without any prompt from him, leaving nothing but wet seats to mark their passing. As he pulled to the garage, one of the champagne flutes tipped and fell, sending bubbles flowing out across the floor.  
  
He sighed. Two beautiful women. A pity.  
  
Ami  
  
When the driver let her out, she stood before a tall, impassive stone structure–like so many others in this city. She had lived in one of them before, and she'd live in one of them now. The architecture was neoclassical and screamed of wealth. She pursed her lips with annoyance at the gaudy display, then walked up seven steps to the door. About to knock, a voice behind her made her pause.  
  
"Ami." She turned, and there was Minako, just where the driver had left her, her eyes filled with grief. She was smiling, though, a forced smile that did nothing to expose her beauty. "I'll miss you, Ami."  
  
Ami met her eyes, knowing how cold she must look. "We'll see each other again, Minako. This is no end."  
  
"Don't lie to me, Ami." Minako shook her head. "Please, not you, too."  
  
Ami glanced over her glasses at her long-time friend. "I don't lie, Minako. You should know that." Then she turned, and entered her prison.  
  
The foyer was empty. She hung her umbrella on the coat stand, to drip dry on the marble floor. A soft thud-thud sounded as the water hit the floor, and she shivered. It was too quiet.  
  
An open door ahead of her revealed stairs, she climbed them with a feeling of–what? Regret? I shouldn't regret this, she told herself for the hundredth time, it was necessary. Anyway, one cannot regret fate.  
  
At the top of the stairs, she entered a spacious room full of furniture and cold air. The furniture was strict, all right angles and straight lines. It was the type of furniture she had appreciated before, but she had never gotten to choose how anything would be decorated. This was the first time she had seen it outside of fantasies for the old living room. Now, it was hardly comforting.  
  
This room, too, was silent. She looked around, no one. The doors around the room were closed, and she felt enough like a visitor that she couldn't open them. "Hello?"  
  
Her voice sounded odd, like she had thrown a stone and caused ripples where no ripples were meant to be. She swallowed, nervously. Nothing to be nervous about.  
  
She walked around the room, noting the million shades of gray and the dark mahogany wood. She placed her portfolio down beside on of them, then smiled self-mockingly as she remembered why she had brought it. Her carefully planned speech echoed in her head. I have made an attempt at anticipating problems that might come up in the duration of this agreement. I have always believed in planning before execution, I hope you will agree with me that especially now we should know how to deal with any given situation. If you would take the time, I have several charts that might interest you...  
  
Etiquette had molded herself and her life thus far, she believed in a proper way to do things, and tried to fit that ideal as best she could. She knew that the doors had been closed to her for a reason, she knew that she should wait and be patient, but her nerves sang with preparation for this meeting that she had rehearsed a million times. If she did not act now, she might never be able to. She approached one door and cracked it open, then paused, waiting for something, anything to stop her.  
  
There was no sound. She opened the door the rest of the way, and saw a bedroom. It was large, everything here was large, and the furniture square. She noted with relief that the monotony of the colors was broken, the grey was present, but interrupted by navy blues and crisp whites. She walked through it, running her fingers over the immaculate bedspread, the polished chest of drawers. She paused at the desk to glance at the first sign of mess she had seen since entering this place, scattered papers and uncapped pens. She read the top one with interest, then whistled through her teeth. Research on genetically altering little known deadly pathogens to cause worldwide epidemics–she frowned, it stunk of government research. Perhaps he...no. She stopped the thought in it's tracks. For two weeks she had avoided speculation, refusing to let dreams and fantasies ruin this relationship. She wasn't about to stop now.  
  
The bedroom had shaken her calm. She left it, shut the door behind her, and moved to main room again. Four more doors. First came a kitchen, where she did not linger; despite a healthy understanding of chemical processes, that particular room had never held any charm for her. Next, a bathroom, as clean and neat as any other room she had seen. She came to the third door, and opened it, and strode through. Her breath caught, and she stared. It was a lab, a fully furnished lab, just like the one before...she shook her head, looking around in wonder. It had everything, though not as ordered as the other rooms in the house, she could see everything she could ask for. Could it be possible he had prepared this, for her?  
  
No. She would not think that, not yet, but the lab made her feel secure as nothing else she had seen could have. She looked over it once more, and froze. There was a man, a man she had missed on the first look round, standing in the far corner. His back was to her, she could see the laptop he was looking at so fixedly.  
  
Relief, she was surprised to notice, flowed through her. Finally, someone to speak to, to be with. Finally, a voice to break the silence.  
  
She cleared her throat, to get his attention. He did not turn. Puzzled, she called to him. "Hello? Sir? I'm Ami Mizuno. Sir? Sir?" His back remained to her, his eyes locked on the screen. She did not know how long she stood, calling to him, until at last she gave up and walked into the main room, to face a prison a million times more desolate now that she could not know her captor.  
  
Minako  
  
Ami was gone, up the steps and into the large building, and Minako stood in a street mercifully empty, feeling tears stinging at her eyes. Her friend's last words hung in the air I don't lie, Minako, you should know that, and Minako couldn't help but feel that they really were the last, as if the final vestige of her previous life had died and been buried.  
  
"It almost is that way" she murmured, staring fixedly at the doorway where Ami had been, and it was, because the distance between them now was as great as the distance between the living and the dead. She would never see Ami again.  
  
She would never see any of them again.  
  
Minako closed her eyes as the knowledge struck her, a thousand times more painful now that it had actually been realized then it had ever been on those empty nights when she lay alone and thought of this day, this hour, when she would be separated. All my planning she thought, her voice bitter, even in her mind. All my planing, torn to shreds and cast to the wind. There was nothing left now. They had been separated. She had failed.  
  
That knowledge was like a blow to the stomach.  
  
She felt tears sting at her eyes, as a mocking mantra began in her head. Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. She shook her head, feeling raindrops trickling down her scalp to her neck, feeling her clothes adhere to her body, feeling her eyes weep and the skies weep and the patterns of the world shatter around her.  
  
She lingered for some time, there, caught in distress and grief, before her mind shed the phase like it shed almost any emotion that wasn't joy. With the passing came the guilt that shadowed her always–guilt that she could not grieve, even now, at the end of all things. Guilt would not sustain her, though, and she was becoming aware of a decided drechedness and coldness on her legs. "Haven't got the brains to come out of the rain" she said, then strode determinately towards the building on the corner.  
  
Five minutes later, Minako stood before the door she had dreaded for a month, pausing before she would raise a hand to knock on it and change her life forever. Her smile became sad, and her voice was too quiet for any but her to hear when she murmured the last words she'd say as a free woman. "I guess this is it for the Serenity Doctrine."  
  
Then she knocked, and stood waiting.  
  
Serenity  
  
They were all gone. She shuddered as she walked through the now empty house, suddenly cold, and very lonely. As she looked about her, searching for something to ease the growing ache in her chest, her senses bombarded her with memories of the way things had been–she smelled the muffins Mako was accustomed to baking every morning as they cooled on the counter, felt the woven carpet Rei had insisted they buy rub against her feet, heard the classical music Ami had left on playing from the living room. And then she came to the table, and stopped dead.  
  
She could almost see them all sitting there, and herself too, as she remembered the countless hours they had spent working through small defeats and big victories gathered around it. She smiled as she imagined them–Mina in her element planning and bossing, but only with sound ideas, Ami nearest the wall so her laptop could be plugged in and she could research Mina's thoughts, bringing them from plausible to probable. Rei would have her hair wrapped up, with several pens sticking through it, she would be focused on writing speeches and papers would be scattered around her, looking up every so often to argue tactics with Mina. Mako would be holding the newspaper, or calling a magazine to schedule an interview, or doing any of the thousand little jobs that would never have gotten done without her, sometimes looking up and rolling her eyes at Mina's and Rei's anitcs, so only Serenity could see, and then they would both giggle silently. She remembered the last time they had won something really significant, when thanks in great part to the information they had spread hundreds of women from the city set up makeshift hospitals to tend for the sick, and this new awareness of death had led to a faster end of the war. She remembered the day the war was over, and they had danced around the bedroom till three in the morning, laughing until tears came to their eyes, and even after, till they were sobbing uncontrollably and hugging and smiling–that had been two months before. Serenity smiled, it was one of her favorite memories, and often during the troubled time she had recalled it. It had brought her peace.  
  
No peace was to be had from it today, though. She wandered listlessly from the table and into her bedroom. Sheets, blankets and pillows still scattered the floor, remnants of their last night together when they had refused to sleep apart. She had to choke back a sob at that memory, though–it had torn her beyond belief when she had heard the others crying quietly because they thought she was asleep, and wouldn't be burdened by their grief.  
  
"I was burdened by it, though," she choked out, before falling on the bed and beginning to cry herself. "You promised me you'd never make me cry!" she shouted angrily into the empty room, "You promised! I'll never be able to forgive you! Never!"  
  
Twenty minutes later, when she had cried herself hoarse, she lay staring at the ceiling–that odd sense of tranquility that comes after crying about her. "I will forgive you," she murmured quietly, almost pleading "I will forgive you, just come back to me. Don't leave me alone anymore. I can't stand to be alone."  
  
This made her cry again, because she knew no one could hear her, and she knew that no one ever would.  
  
In the dark room that they were accustomed to using for meetings, three figures took their places around a low table. One of them produced a tea pot, and poured cups all around, and as the steam filled the room, the first spoke.  
  
"How are they?"  
  
The woman sitting to the right of the first speaker responded. "As well as can be expected. Ami and Mina have arrived. Mako caught the train, she's being picked up as we speak. Rei is in the air. Serenity cried for two hours today. None of the men" she sent a glare at the man across the table "have greeted them yet. You'd think they'd know some manners."  
  
He chuckled. "They do, I assure you, and given time they'll all charm each other of their respective feet. But I must remind you, they moved into these houses little over a month ago, they have hardly adjusted to the residence, let alone the women. I still say we're taking this too fast."  
  
The first spoke again. "Be that as it may, it had to be done. I know the adjusting period will be painful, but there is nothing I can do about that. We have to hope that they get over it as soon as possible, they need to start working together. Is there any way we can speed this up?"  
  
The woman answered. "No, there's nothing we can do, except give them the same subtle hints we've been providing all along. You know that."  
  
"I do, but so much depends on this working! We can't let it all up to fate."  
  
The man snorted. "Fate's been guiding our hands pretty well up to this point."  
  
The woman glared at him.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her. "It's true."  
  
"I never said it wasn't."  
  
He made a low, frustrated sound, then abruptly stood up. "If that's all the business we have tonight, I'll take my leave. Luna," he nodded at the woman, then at the other. "Serenity. Good night."  
  
After the door had shut behind him, Serenity turned toward her last companion. "Luna, did I do the right thing by playing my hand in this?"  
  
Luna stared at her for a long moment, composing a truthful answer from her chaotic mind—Serenity always preferred the truth. "I don't know."  
  
End  
  
a.n. new format. Realized my last one wasn't coming up right. Hope this all makes more sense. I've revised this chapter, got rid of those silly grammatical errors. Yay!  
  
For anyone who isn't rereading this, enjoy it. I think it's much more readable now.  
  
DF 


	2. Into the Lions Den

The Contract : Chapter Two  
  
Into the Lions Den  
  
Matoko  
  
She spent the train ride huddled in a corner as far from the other passengers as possible. Shy and reclusive by nature, even on a good day she would not have wanted to talk to anyone—today the thought of having to make pleasant conversation made her stomach twist unpleasantly. Honest to a fault, with everyone including herself, she admitted within five minutes that she was avoiding the world. She also knew that this would induce brooding, and by brooding she sentenced herself to a long spell of depression. She knew very well that this, her most prominent failing, would end only if she was strong and forced it to. She was aware of her weakness.  
  
But it was hard to be strong when one is alone.  
  
She, for once in her life, welcomed her flaw. She leaned her head against the window, the cool glass startling against her face, and thought, remembering. One minute, it had seemed, the war was over, and Mina bubbled with plans of political ascension, the next those damn letters had arrived and they had been thrown into chaos. Their carefully constructed lives came crashing down about their ears, hitting all of them one way or another. Rei had been angry—the week after the news came, she stayed locked in her room, fasting and meditating, until Wren's pleas brought her out, starving, not a pinch of fat on her. Ami had been logical and calm, justifying everything that happened, staying up until the early hours of the morning researching their new life as extensively as she could. She had never cracked the tight shell around herself in front of them, though one early morning Mako had witnessed choked sobs as she crouched before her computer. Ami had not seen her intrusion, and they never spoken of it.  
  
Mina had suffered in a way as well, and she was naturally so happy the change had been most marked in her. That first day, she had wandered about the house with a terrible lost look in her eyes, and when Mako or Wren had approached her she would look at them without knowing who they were. After that day, she, too, locked herself in her room, though she came out for meals. It had been terrible to watch someone usually so enamored with life go on autopilot, to see her movement and conversations become mechanical, as she buried herself away.  
  
Their mourning was nothing compared to Wrens, though. She had kept up a façade of cheer, so well that Mako was sure no one else had noticed the cracks, as caught up as they were in their own grief. But Mako had noticed, seen the large clumps of hair in the bathroom after Wren would quit it, she heard the retching sounds late at night, saw the usually healthy girl loose weight until she became practically a walking skeleton. When questioned, though, Wren brushed it off, put on her smile and went on helping the others out of despair. Mako had thought at the time that she didn't realize what was going on, that she had pushed her grief so deep it had taken root in her body, whereas the others all felt it in their minds.  
  
Mako smiled sardonically at that. The others, huh? As in, not you? How about you, Matoko, how did you grieve?  
  
She didn't have an answer.  
  
She had spent the weeks, as she had spent all her time in the apartment, looking after the others. When Rei had come out, she had fed her. When Ami had clamped shut, she had let her be until the girl asked for company, ignoring the urge to push her out of her spell. With Minako she had done everything she could to engage her in the world, drawing her into those terrible, motorized conversations, and with Wren—with Wren she had watched, as helpless as she had ever been. The most she could do was cook for her, cook everything and anything she wanted, trying to pull her wasted body along so they could all survive.  
  
Beyond caring for her friends, there had been the normal chores to do. The house needed to be cleaned, and the laundry done, and the mail to be got and responded to. She had even, two days after the tidings came, scheduled a press conference so Wren could tell the public she'd be on a long vacation to celebrate the victory, and would probably not be available for comment for some time.  
  
All in all, Mako thought despondently in the train car, I behaved just as I had for months previous. Nothing changed, not one thing.  
  
The train pulled into the station, and she was doused in darkness.  
  
Rei  
  
Rei stared straight ahead into the dark cushion of the seat in front of hers, hands clenched in her lap, determined not to look at her watch, or the letter that burned a hole in her mind. Taking deep, frustrated breaths, which she paced with her racing heart beat, she tried to ignore the twisted feeling in her stomach, or at least allot it to the almost sickening descent of the plane. She was not, was not, nervous. There was no way this–after months of writing speeches that would be broadcast across the world–this, a simple meeting, would make her nervous. She had always been calm, always collected, and, except for the rare instance of flaring temper, she had been the grounded one people came to for advice. Now she felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under her, as if she were drifting loose. It was the first time she had felt like this. She didn't like it.  
  
It made her angry.  
  
Anger made her loose her resolve.  
  
Cursing in fury, she dove a hand into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Smoothing against her thighs, she read it for the third time that day.  
  
Dear Ms. Hino,  
  
As we have two weeks appointed to us for vacation, I have decided to actually take it. I assumed, when I bought tickets, that you would wish a break for yourself as well, and I have taken the liberty of sending you one (electronic conformation, of course), in hopes that you would join me.  
  
Rei snorted. As if she had a choice.  
  
The needed information for you to take such a flight is below, we are going to be disembarking in Hawaii, a location I thought appropriate. As I will be arriving first, due to closer starting location, I will have the opportunity to wait for you and take you back to the hotel room. Don't worry about finding me, I'll know you. I've tracked down several pictures of you and your friends, though they weren't clear as to who was who, I would know any of you upon sight, so it should not plague us.  
  
I hope your journey goes well. Remember, I will be waiting.  
  
Fond wishes,  
  
And then the plane hit the ground with a wrenching lurch. Rei, smoking at her weakness in reading the (stupid, pointless) email transcript again, crammed it in her pocket, wrinkling it again. The words, as they had after previous readings, unsettled her. She didn't like his flowery way with words. "I will be waiting!," she muttered darkly beneath her breath, "who the hell writes crap like that?"  
  
She made an angry grab for her carry-on, just as the captain's voice resounded through the compartment "Please leave any bags stowed beneath you seats as they are, you may get them when we land." Rei glared at where she thought the speakers would be, and, defiantly, pulled the purse into her lap, relishing the sleek leather against her skin. Returning to her previous line of thought, she growled, "He'd better be waiting, that's all I have to say. He'd just better."  
  
The old woman sitting next to her turned, looking austere, and sent a pompous frown down her nose in Rei's direction. Not one to be stared down, Rei promptly screwed up her face in an exaggerated imitation, and the woman turned away in disgust. Rei heard her growl something to the effect of "Youth these days!"  
  
God, Rei thought, what is it with people around here. Was there a proper English course I missed out on in High School? Or is it just the degree of snobbishness required to go, or send someone, to Hawaii?  
  
The captains voice sounded again, and Rei eagerly unhooked her seatbelt. She had flown often enough to know what was coming. This is your captain...we hoped you enjoyed your flight...welcome to Hawaii...temperature is a balmy eighty degrees, because everything is perfect here...if you would, please make your way to the exit at the front of the plane...thanks for choosing whatever sucky airline this is...yada yada blah blah. Her inner monologue was pretty much spot on, except he topped off his speech with 'aloha'.  
  
She almost gagged.  
  
The disgust at the pilot occupied her mind as she gathered her luggage, and carried it out to the terminal. As she was about to exit, that anger faded, and she remembered why she was here. She stopped dead.  
  
A man behind her made a noise of protest, and she dazedly made her way to the edge, to let others by. As they walked past, Rei realized–for the first time in a long time actually realized–what she was about to do. Her throat was suddenly dry. She swallowed. Her knees trembled. She put a hand out to steady herself. Her vision blurred. She blinked several times, hoping she wasn't ill.  
  
A woman passing, awkwardly clutching a child and three bags to her as two little boys ran ahead, stopped next to her. "Excuse me, do you need some help?"  
  
Rei looked at her, surprised. Seeing the expression, the woman continued. "Is something wrong? You look sick, or nervous."  
  
At that Rei straightened stiffly. Her? Nervous? Never. She glared into space for a moment, before recalling the woman, and blushing. "No, but thank you, so much." Looking at her, noticing the children she was dealing with, Rei added, "Are you sure you don't need help?"  
  
The woman smiled, she was very pretty, and hoisted her child a little higher on her hip. "Yes. Thank you, tho–Sammy! Sammy! Stop that!" She began to walk away, then turned and called a hurriend 'good bye' before rushing after the little terror. Rei smiled at her retreating back, then pulled her shoulders and lifted her chest–correcting already perfect posture. She would meet this thing head on, and she would overcome it, and she would do it with dignity and grace.  
  
Thus thinking, she walked from the airplane, and into the bright sunlight of the airport.  
  
Minako  
  
There was no answer. Perplexed, Mina knocked again. Of all the possible events following her arrival, she had not anticipated this. Frowning perversely at the door, as if it were the object's fault, she hissed through her teeth. "What am I supposed to do now, huh? I'm soaking wet," she glared at it, "in case you hadn't noticed. And it's cold in here." Shivering, she knocked again.  
  
No answer.  
  
"Well. I know one thing. I don't want to wait any longer." Looking up again, she murmured, "at least he's expecting me. So it really should be no problem if I" she tried the handle, which turned easily, admitting her to a dark little hallway, "let myself in."  
  
She stepped over the threshold softly, nervous; the room she entered was unfamiliar, and she felt a stranger. There was a long table along the wall, on it a bowl that held a set of keys. An umbrella, still wet, leaned between it and a coat rack; here Mina hung her raincoat and hat. She also took of her shoes, and proceeded into a large living room, her stomach writhing in her gut. Someone had turned the heat on, she noted with relief as the goose bumps fled from her shoulders.  
  
She looked around, taking in the place she would call home with a detached sort of wonder. There were two large couches, facing each other, and a low coffee table, and three huge black and white photographs that dominated one wall–sand dunes, mountains, a forest–and a white rug, all of which she approved of. At least he has good taste.  
  
Across from the pictures was one of the bars that had become so popular in modern design, and beyond that a large kitchen that struck Mina as sterile. She walked along the counters, trailing one hand along the smooth surface, and flinched when her hand knocked a stainless steel coffee mug into the sink. She froze, muscles tense, ready to bolt at a moments notice, but there was no reaction from the quiet about her. When the crash stopped ringing in her ears, she sighed, and moved on, this time taking care not to touch anything.  
  
A breakfast nook held a cute, wrought iron table that would belong on a patio if there was one available, and five matching chairs. Mina stared at it for a while, her nerves still jumping from the mug incident, letting her eye follow the flowers cast in the metal, and her breathing return to normal. When she was composed, she continued, making sure to pick up the cup on her way out.  
  
A single step and a door let her into a small, sparse bedroom. A twin bed was pushed up against the wall on a rickety metal frame. The blanket spread across it was a faded, sunny yellow, and looked as if it had been hastily smoothed. She sat on it, and sank into it, and lay back, her hands coming up behind her head. She was tired, bone-tired—being constantly in a state of nerves, denial or anger through the past few weeks had finally taken its toll, and for a while she was content to let exhaustion wash over her. Relaxation was something she—something none of them had been able to enjoy for a long time. It felt nice.  
  
It felt very nice. Mina yawned, and snuggled a little deeper into the softness of the mattress. She managed to maneuver her shoes off without needing her hands, and they fell to the floor–thunk, thunk. She pulled the yellow blanket around her–inhaling the scent that came from line drying something, which reminded her of the way Wren would insist their blankets smelt, the cause of long hours in front of the clothesline.  
  
That little thought of home made her forget that she was in the apartment of a man she didn't even know for an instant. That moment of lowered defenses was enough for her body to send her into a deep oblivion.  
  
Serenity  
  
Wren started awake, blinking dazedly, her eyes sore in that way that comes after crying yourself to sleep. Yawning, she stretched, then looked around, searching for what had jarred her out of the pleasant dream she'd been having. Finding nothing amiss, and still very tired, she began to lay back down, when a pounding noise made her jump. Growling under her breath, she pulled her dressing robe over her pajamas, and made her way into the living room, and towards the front door.  
  
Blearily, she peered down at her watch, at least she should be able to berate whoever it was for waking her. 5:29. "Goddamnit all! First decent sleep I've had in weeks" she muttered, becoming more coherent as she came awake, "and some looser", turning the knob, "decides to wake up and play 'let's knock on the door and wake up poor–Hello!"  
  
The door had swung open to reveal a man, standing on the poorly lit doorstep, tapping his hands against his thighs impatiently. When he saw her, though, he froze–not a frightened paralysis, but mild surprise coupled with a sharp gaze as he looked her over.  
  
Becoming suddenly intensely aware of her less-than-stellar attire, she drew back into shadows of her home, staring at him in turn. He was tall, much taller than she, and fairly well built–not the cover a romance novel, by any means, but fit. She only gave his face a passing glance, which told her he was attractive, and had nice eyes. He was well dressed; wearing black pants and a well cut, dark green shirt, and he held a leather suitcase in one hand.  
  
As she noticed that detail, her head snapped up. "What are you doing here?"  
  
He was obviously shocked by that, but he responded quickly enough, with an awkward little laugh. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"  
  
"Are you serious?" She peered up at him, raising her eyebrows. "I don't know who you are! And it's five thirty in the morning!"  
  
He looked a little embarrassed at that. "I know, I'm sorry for the time. My flight just got in." He shook his head, as if to clear it, then looked down at her with an almost perplexed expression. "You really don't know who I am?"  
  
"No." Now she was confused. Why would she know him?  
  
"Have you been checking your mail lately?"  
  
The way he said it made her sink into dread.  
  
She turned quickly, sick fear rising in her stomach, remembering the arrival that had torn her family apart. She practically ran to the table where she had dumped the unopened letters for the past few days—too deep in mourning even to look at them. No, not me too. He followed her, leaning on the doorframe to watch her panicked motions as she sifted through them. Please, please not–and then she found it. A plain, white envelope stared up at her, the clear, black letters seemed to march before her dizzy vision.  
  
Serenity Tsukino  
  
Nothing else. Some distant part of her brain noted that it must have been delivered by hand. Fingers shaking, she tore it open, and pulled out the folded paper within.  
  
Dear Ms. Tsukino,  
  
As you have seen four other letters like this, I will cut the pleasantries and get to the main point. Like your friends before you, we feel that your continued political involvement, and the success that would stem from it, would endanger our own security in the dignified affairs of this country and the world. Therefore, we have managed, by circumstances you know well, to maneuver you into the position you find yourself in now–if you do not do as we wish, we will destroy your image and your life. Since you are so self-sacrificing, though, you must also realize that we could and would seek out those close to you and use them against you. If you make it necessary, we will also be able to spark negative dealings between the countries you fought so hard to win peace for, plunging the world into another war. We know your famous thoughts on death, and how this would affect you. If you do not, therefore, obey the following contract to the letter, the resulting deaths will hang on your conscious.  
  
The contract is really quite simple. You don't even need to sign, though you can, by all means, if it formalizes this agreement for you. All that you must do is consent to marriage with Mamoru Chiba–don't worry about a ceremony; we have enclosed a completely valid license. You two will live at your current place of residence, until you decide to relocate, and can take up whatever profession you like. The only true requirement is that you stay married, until such time as you both have died from natural or uncontrollable causes, if we find that you have tampered with the life of your partner, you will face the consequences mentioned above. Taking that into account, we hope you have a very happy marriage, and a pleasant life.  
  
The Augustus Company  
  
P.S. Don't attempt to run from us, or Mamoru. We will find you, and you will suffer. Best wishes, Mrs. Chiba.  
  
It was as if she had been plunged in a bucket of freezing water. She began to shake uncontrollably; the letter trembled in her hands. Throwing a hand against the wall for support, she turned to look at him. "Thi–Wha–I–" He regarded her, his eyes sympathetic, as she stuttered for a while, before her mind closed around the facts of the letter, and then she said the only thing that seemed reasonable. "You must be Mamoru Chiba."  
  
He nodded. "Yes."  
  
"And this" she held the enclosed license, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch, aware that she sounded manic, "means we're married." She laughed because it was a stupid thing to say, and because if she didn't laugh she might cry, and she didn't want him to see her cry.  
  
"Yes." If she had been looking at him, she would have seen his almost pained look, as if he wanted to reach out and comfort her, but did not know how.  
  
She leaned against the wall and slid down it, wrapping her hands around her knees and hugging them to her. "Oh my god."  
  
He came over to her, and sat down as well. "My sentiments exactly."  
  
End  
  
a.n.: it's up. Thank god. I hope you liked it, it was fun to write. I think this is all the set up I'll need, now that I've introduce Mamo-chan I can get to the rest of the guys, and then the story can start puttering along. Chapter three should be up within the week.  
  
Also have continued the reformatting. Yay.  
  
Cheers,  
  
DF 


	3. Lions

The Contract–Chapter Three  
  
The Lions  
  
Ami  
  
She was young again, perhaps seven or eight, and she was walking with her mother to the grocery store. The woman next to her was looking down at her with a thoughtful expression as she shared an experience from school. "I don't know why he's so grumpy all the time. I don't have a daddy either, and his comes back every three months to visit him. His dad's just out looking for a job, it's not like they're never going to see each other again. I think it's very spoiled of him to use that against people for pity, don't you?" She peered up at her companion, who was looking forward, her face unreadable. "Mommy?"  
  
Her mother took a deep breath and let it out, then met her daughter's inquisitive gaze. She smiled the serene smile the little girl had become used to over the years; happy that her parent was normal again, Ami cheerfully took her hand, listening to the soft sound of her voice.  
  
"Darling, I think you should be nicer to the poor boy. You don't know what it's like to miss someone–I've tried to shield you from the pain of loneliness as best I can. When your father died, I remember how it felt to wake up every morning, before I remembered he wasn't there, and thinking that he would be lying next to me, and I'd reach out for him, and then I'd remember and it was...very painful. I'm sure I was angry, then, too. I'm sure it hurts to be apart from anyone, whether or not their alive. Be kinder than to begrudge him rage, Ami."  
  
Her eyes full of tears, little Ami embraced her mother, pained that the woman had been in pain. When she pulled away, the person she'd been clutching had become herself, an older Ami, that looked at her with sad eyes, and almost said something, something urgent, but then Ami, the real Ami, was awake, and instantly aware that she was not at home.  
  
She had never dreamed when she was at home.  
  
Sitting up, she looked around, taking in the room she had fallen asleep in, the events of the previous day coming back to her in force. She had found this room after discovering the lab and the man within it. Assuming that it was intended for her, it showed no signs of being lived in and the boxes she had sent containing her belongings were stacked neatly against the wall, she began unpacking. It had occupied her when she had desperately needed something to keep her busy, to avoid the silence of the empty house. She had worked until evening, when she had gone to bed on an empty stomach, not wanting to disturb his food without permission. Then, she hadn't been able to sleep, and the last thing she actually remembered was wondering if she would ever meet her husband.  
  
Now that thought plagued her, as she slipped from her pajamas and into some of the clothes she had unpacked last night, jeans and a white button-up, castaways from Mina or Wren, she couldn't remember. The outfit was light, and casual, and happy, which she needed–the last thing she wanted was to be reminded of what had been lost. She managed to ignored it, and the emptiness inside her, pushing them both to the back of her mind, so that she might find escape.  
  
She reached up and ran a hand through her hair, checking with her fingers for tangles, and after finding nothing amiss, she left her room heavy with resolve.  
  
She would speak to him today. If it killed her, she would make him aware of her existence.  
  
She did not pause, therefore, when she came to the empty livingroom, but let the burning sense of purpose drive her towards his bedroom door, let it wash away her mind and leave her a vessel of the need that drew her on. She did not hesitate to open his door, or to walk into his room when she had never invaded the privacy of anyone else in her life, even those she had been intimate with. She could not be ignored, could not face a day of that pressing silence again. It would drive her insane, perhaps already had, and it drove her to his window, to fling wide the curtains.  
  
A sudden brightness filled the room, and by it she could see the figure wincing in the bed. Taking a deep, steadying breath and moving before her mind could catch up with her, she seized the initiative. In three steps she was by his side, and her hand was on his bare shoulder; she shook him and called to him, he responded with a low groan and fluttering eyelids, then growled out "God, not right now. Work can wait." He turned away from her, and she was suddenly angry.  
  
"Oh, no it can't. Wake up right now," she replaced her hand on his shoulder, shaking him vehemently, "or I'll–"  
  
In a sudden, fluid motion he rolled over and grabbed her wrist, at once yanking her into him and off balance, so leaned awkwardly over the bed. Their eyes met, and all the purpose washed out of her, replaced suddenly by sickening confusion, and she was very aware of his skin against hers and his eyes boring into her skull. He broke the sizzling visual contact, and she followed the path of his gaze as he took in every line of the situation, then returned to her face, and quirked one sarcastic eyebrow. "Or you'll what?"  
  
Doubt overtook her like a storm she had been avoiding since waking–what would she have done if he hadn't woken up? What would she do now? Why had she walked into the proverbial jaws of a tiger? She desperately reached for the feeling of solitude, for the cemented need that had pushed her into the situation, but there was nothing. It was as if her clothes had been stripped away, and she was left naked to confront him.  
  
She blushed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, I just needed to speak to you, and," her voice trailed off, aware of how silly she must sound. Inwardly, she wished desperately he'd let go of her.  
  
He was staring up at her with disbelief. "You don't know what came over you? Tell me, do you often walk into strange men's bedrooms on a whim?"  
  
Now color came to her face in anger. How could he treat her like this, after ignoring her so thoroughly yesterday? How could he insult her, insinuating in such a cruel way? Clear thinking came over her in a wash, and she felt the ground of logic reappear beneath her feet. Firm in her stance, now, she replied cuttingly. "We may be strangers, but I do have some claim on this room and your attention, sir, as of yesterday our marriage was officially begun and I am your wife."  
  
She found it funny to watch his eyes widen the moment the words left her mouth and comprehension dawned. He let go of her very suddenly, and the slight loss of support he had been giving her made pitch forward and almost fall onto the mattress. Gaping at her, his jaw slack, he backed away, as if she would give him the plague. "You're...Ami?"  
  
Regaining her balance, she raised her eyebrows. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"And you came in...yesterday?"  
  
The memory of yesterday's torture returned to her, and there was a tinge of hurt to her voice when she spoke. "Yes. I came yesterday."  
  
His face wrinkled in an odd mixture of regret and pity. "I'm sorry. I must have lost track of the time...I knew you were coming, but I got caught up...I would have come to meet you..." His voice faded, and it was clear to her he was thinking of a way to make it better. When he looked up at her, his face was had somehow managed to contort hope into it's expression as well. "Do you want some breakfast?"  
  
Makoto  
  
The smooth leather seat beneath her reminded her far to well of the car that had carried her away from Wren and the others. The softly whirring wheels moved the scenery along, pulling her farther and farther away from them, so, in a sense, she was in the same car, on the same journey. The travel on the train and the two cars had long before blended in her mind, and would not be over even when she reached her destination, might never be over. The gaping chasm the loss of her friends had left in her would never be filled until she was with them again, and until them let it be occupied with hope.  
  
The drivers voice startled Mako from her reverie, he had given up on conversation in the first few minutes of the drive, and the shattered silence cut her already open wounds. "We'll be arriving shortly, ma'am."  
  
She resisted the urge to respond sarcastically, or angrily, it would accomplish nothing and would leave her feeling worse. Now she turned her attention to the window, and watched as the twisted up a long, tree-lined drive before arriving at a secluded house well away from the rest of the world.  
  
Mako was suddenly, profoundly reminded of a horror villain in a book she had once read that had left her sleepless for nights. "Nothing but trees all around...no one to hear you scream..."  
  
"I'm sorry, ma'am?"  
  
The driver made her look up, a distraction she found welcome, she did not want to begin considering this prison as a house of torture, because the very thought made her stomach bottom out. "Nothing. Just," she searched wildly for an excuse, not thinking 'scaring myself senseless' would go over very well, "wondering at the size of the place."  
  
"Yes. It is large, a wonderful piece of property, and a good house, too. The master was very likely to find it on such short notice."  
  
The master? The sick feeling returned. What am I getting into?  
  
The driver quickly grabbed her bags from the back, and led her to the front door. Mako smiled at her own silliness when she pictured the words 'abandon hope, all ye who enter here' engraved above it, then shook her head, clearing her mind of the last vestiges of fear. She would not let herself fear, she would remain the column of strength that had carried her and her friends through every crisis they had faced. The time for weakness was past.  
  
The man dropped her bags at the front door, then took her to the stairs. "He wanted to see you, ma'am, in his office. I'll lead you there."  
  
He paused, as if expecting something. Unsure of what to say, she finally choked out "Thanks", then followed him up and up and up.  
  
On the third floor they stopped, and she went along a long hallway to a door second from the end. Her escort there abandoned her, and she watched his progress back towards wherever it was he was going, until he was out of sight, and she was alone–but for the demon lurking on the other side of the door.  
  
Never one for long consideration–she had found over the years that it made her loose resolve–she opened it and strode in, projecting a confidence she did not altogether feel.  
  
A man stood with his back to her looking skyward, though he spun round when she came in. Her first impression was of his long hair, which fell in waves down his back, and was several shades darker than her own. The rest of his appearance she noticed in layers, as if he were an onion she were peeling. He was tall, taller than her by a several inches, and that was good. He was thin, which was also good, there was nothing she detested more in a man than fat. His hands were large and almost beautiful, long and thin, with tapered fingers and perfect nails. She noticed his eyes last, they were a stormy grey, and caught her attention. She stared for a moment more before becoming aware that she was staring, and then he spoke.  
  
"Well. You're not the one I expected."  
  
Confused at the unexpected conversation starter, she blinked for a moment, before the meaning of his words sunk in. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She asked, suddenly feeling a mixture of anger and embarrassment, knowing exactly what it meant. He had wanted one of the others, Mina or Wren with their cute blonde beauty, or Rei's exotic sensuality. He had not wanted her, the tall, gangly, tomboy that hovered in the back of photos, a head above the rest of the group, managing an un-photogenic smile while the photographer focused on her friends. Even though Mina had insisted that all of them except Wren keep a low profile, so that the pictures taken of them as a group were not labeled, on those occasions they had been out in public men had always swarmed on other members of the group, leaving her to be an out of place wall flower counting down the seconds until she could go home.  
  
"I didn't think you'd be the one they'd send to me, I figured I'd get stuck with the little smart one."  
  
Mako glowered, her instinct to be protective of her friends fueling her outrage at what might have been a slight on Ami. "For your information, the 'little smart one' is one of the nicest, best people I've ever met, and you have no right to speak about her that–"  
  
"All right, all right." He said, raising his hands, almost in a defeated gesture. "Simmer down. I admit to my guilt. I'm sorry." It hardly pacified her, but it would have to be enough. "Now" he motioned to a chair, "would you please sit?"  
  
Reluctant, she pulled herself down into the chair, eyes on him the entire time. He smiled when he saw her sitting and took a seat across from her, crossing one long leg over the other and bringing his fingertips together. His calm made her angry and for a while she glowered at him, but, unlike Rei, she was not disposed to long bouts of fury, and before long she relatively peaceful. When he saw that, he leaned toward her, and spoke. "I believe you will agree with me that we find ourselves in a" he paused, sarcastic humor lining his tone, "unique situation."  
  
She smiled. "Yes. If it is anything, it is unique."  
  
"I want to let you know one thing before we fling ourselves into this–I know we don't trust each other right at this second, but I promise you I will do my best to earn your trust and respect, and I would like you to make a similar vow." His gaze was intense as he looked across the room at her, and for the second time that day, his words caught her off guard.  
  
She was unsure where to look, she felt uncannily like he was asking to put a very large part of herself on the line, and wasn't sure if she could commit to that, but then she met his eyes, and in that second they conveyed something to her–something she would fancy she had imagined later, but something that moved her. Dazed from the power of his regard, she nodded, slowly. "I agree to not shut you out, I will try to get along. It's not something I do very easily, but I will try."  
  
He smiled. "Thank you. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."  
  
She returned his grin, her eyes sparkling. "See? I can behave."  
  
He chuckled. "There are some loose ends we should tie up, and I think the first one of them is showing you the house."  
  
She stood and motioned toward the door. "Lead on, mon capitan."  
  
Jaedite  
  
A sudden flurry of excitement from across the terminal made Jaedite look up from his coffee, interested in the sudden break in monotony. Well, he thought, a smile creasing his face for a moment, before fading, here at last. He stood, and stretched to work out a kink in his back, grabbed his possessions, then made his way through the confusion of the airport to where the passengers were disembarking. Making a quick evaluation of the situation, he moved to a spot near the window, where he could see the people getting off, but they couldn't see him. He wanted to see her first, wanted to surprise her. For a second he watched, then, having come to the conclusion that they were first class, and he had a few more seconds, downed the rest of his coffee and pulled the bouquet from his bag, positioning it so even if she turned to look at him, she wouldn't see it. With this final preparation, everything was ready.  
  
He turned his full attention on the men and women de-boarding, and their family and friends greeting them. A child ran to her father, who scooped her up and spun her around, and he smiled. A man flung himself at a teary- eyed woman, in his excitement to see her, his kiss missed her lips entirely, but she didn't seem to mind. A grinning, tourist family got off, the kids looking peaked with excitement, the mother already tired, the father bursting with plans. A young mother burst out of the gate shouting after a small child "Sammy! Sammy!," until the child was stopped by a large, clean cut man. She sent him a grateful look, then got on tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. Then, Jaedite's eyes returned to the passengers, and there she was.  
  
His first impression was that the pictures didn't nearly do her credit. They dimmed the shine of her hair, and the lines of her form were farm more impressive silhouetted by her black dress and the light from the opposite window. She turned her head, obviously looking, and he watched her lips as she muttered something, and saw her eyebrows come together in a frown. He smiled. Even from the side, even glaring, even tired from a long plane trip, she was beautiful.  
  
She turned away from him, he admired the twist of her neck, and paused. He looked to see what had caught her attention, a tall, tan, blonde man who was also glancing about. He watched as her pause lengthened; assuming she was checking the man out, jealousy flared in his stomach. He didn't interrupt her, though, preferring to let things take their natural course–waiting for the right moment to intercept her.  
  
She continued to look at the man until a woman, the last to get off, came running out of the gate, her face flushed, and into his arms. He smiled, and swung her just as the father Jaedite had noticed before had swung his daughter, but then caught her in a kiss that no self-respecting father would ever give his child. The woman he'd been observing turned away from them, and one look at her profile told Jaedite the moment was ripe.  
  
He crossed the floor quickly, his hand tightening around the flowers behind his back. He considered, briefly, stopping where he was, and continuing to watch her from the shadows, but that would be cowardly, and he abhorred cowards. In moments he stood behind her, his mouth near her ear. Smiling, thinking of the many greetings he had considered for this moment, he picked his favorite, and murmured, "Hello, Rei, darling."  
  
She spun, and he realized immediately that she was distinctly unamused. She looked, in fact, very angry. He smiled, knowing he looked cocky, and waiting to gauge her reaction. When her glare intensified, he felt a ping of smugness. He'd predicted that reaction. He had some of her character, at least, nailed.  
  
The fact that he wasn't going in blind put him at ease, erasing the last traces of nerves and allowing him to become his wonderful, womanizing self. The object of his attentions was apparently oblivious to his reversion into his comfort zone, she seemed unaware of any change whatsoever. Practically growling, her voice came out in a snarl, "Who the hell are you?"  
  
She also doesn't like to be surprised, he thought, filing away that piece of information, before inclining his head in a mock bow and responding. "Jaedite Harris, psychologist, politician, and" he smiled as her jaw slackened, enjoying the sense of power he got when manipulating her, "your husband." He swung the flowers from behind his back, watching her surprised reaction with pleasure.  
  
When her surprise faded, though, and she shoved them back in his face, his satisfaction vanished. "What, are you trying to charm me or something?" She snarled, leaning into him so that he was made pleasantly aware of her perfume, "Well, let me share a little knowledge with you, buddy," she poked him firmly in the chest, "I'm not one to be charmed."  
  
Are you, now? He smiled, knowing it only infuriated her more. "Then, and all charming aside," she let out a little, disbelieving snort, "how about we go get something to eat? You must be hungry."  
  
She wrinkled her nose at what he suspected was the memory of airplane food and said, very grudgingly, "Fine."  
  
Rei  
  
Dinner at the hotel was ending up to be a private affair, which Rei had mixed feelings about. (On the one hand, she didn't want to be alone with him, on the other, people around her might a) make sly remarks or b) get her in trouble if she punched him) At any rate, hardly anyone else was in the dinning room, and the steward had led them to a table hidden in the far corner, then the man, Jaedite, he said his name was, took a seat next to her, and she was angry at his impertinence. The anger made her feel better, made the raging storm of confusion that had overtaken her since he'd presented her with flowers at the airport lessen; it made her feel more like herself. This man had been putting her off her usual stride, it was a relief to be back on it.  
  
She tried to recall a time she'd felt more confused about anything, and the only thing that came to mind was her first boyfriend, way back in high school. That was certainly not a memory she'd like to think about, especially not right now, so she pushed it aside, instead deciding to spend some time working out just why this man made her feel at once giddy and frightened, and what she could do about it.  
  
"Rei?"  
  
Jaedite's voice broke through her concentrated disregard of him, she turned to look at him. He was looking at her inquiringly, expecting her to respond to something he had said.  
  
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"  
  
He smiled, and she knew he was laughing with her, and this brought another rise of comforting rage, which quickly faded as she listened to what he had to say. "This man" he nodded toward a tan waiter standing at the end of the table, and Rei blushed for not noticing him before, "was just asking you how you were enjoying the honeymoon so far?"  
  
She narrowed her eyes at his springing a question like that on her, springing that term on her, as if he expected it to throw down her guard. She would not give him that satisfaction. Smiling brightly at the waiter and leaning into her partner so that her left side was pushed up into his chest, in what she hoped was a distracting way, she said "Oh, so far I've enjoyed it more than I can say." She lay her head on Jaedite's shoulder and smiled at the hitch in his breath. Apparently, it was working very well indeed.  
  
Her smile didn't last long, though. Jaedite turned his head so that he could whisper in her ear, "two can play at that game," then he faced the waiter, sliding his arm around her and dragging her closer to him, his hand tracing little circles around her hipbone. At the hieghtened proximity, Rei realized something she suddenly wished she known a lot earlier, so it wouldn't have thrown her so off track now–that this man was incredibly attractive. From her position, practically sitting in his lap, crushed against his side, she was privy to all the little details of his masculinity, the smell of matted sweat, soap and cologne, the hard muscle through his shirt, the gentleness of his fingers as they felt her skin. She barely heard what he said next, "We're planning on a fabulous time here in Hawaii."  
  
The waiter smiled at them, though his gaze seemed more fixed on Jaedite, Rei thought, than on her. "Of course you are. Hawaii is one of the best places to spend a honeymoon." He paused for a moment, and she became sure that he was checking her husband out. Unprecedented jealousy rose in her, she glared at the waiter and pressed herself further into the man, making sure everyone knew where ownership lay. The waiter cleared his throat and choked out "Your drinks will be out shortly."  
  
Now that they were no longer faced by the scrutiny of the young man, and she no longer forced to lay claim on Jaedite, she pulled away and asked him. "What drinks?"  
  
He smiled, and she felt, again, that he was laughing at her. "You were so lost in day dreams I thought I might as well order for us both."  
  
"You ordered for me?" She was incredulous. No one had ordered for her in her life. Her friends knew enough of her picky tastes to know that was not the smartest thing to do.  
  
"Yes. Why wouldn't I? You are my," he pulled her close, "darling wife after all." His mouth was so close to her face she could feel his breath on her cheek. "I know what you like."  
  
She took a deep, angry breath. "Don't dare to presume to know that," she broke away, "sir."  
  
He smiled at her, his eyes innocent, and she was struck by how perfect he looked thus, the low light catching in his hair, making it shine, his eyes sparkling, leaning in toward her in a conspiratorial way. His appearance overwhelmed her to the point that she didn't register what he next said. His eyes continued their laughing dance, and she was captivated by a sudden realization.  
  
He's flirting with me.  
  
And then another, just as shocking, if not more so.  
  
If we were under any other circumstances, I'd be enjoying this.  
  
That thought made her blush, and look away. As the evening progressed, however, and he began telling her stories from his life, (goodness only knows why she had let him start on those slightly egoistical rants), she found herself noticing the little things about him; the way he would impatiently brush his hair away from his eyes when he was speaking, the twist of his hands in the air as he attempted to illustrate something, the way his eyes would crinkle when he told a joke. He was also very funny, when he put his mind to it, and, surprisingly, his humor wasn't disagreeable to her. When the waiter brought them their drinks, they were both laughing over an experience of his when he had been learning to ski in France, and she was in such a good mood that she hardly noticed the heavy alcohol in her mouth as she listened to his next account, her brows drawn in concentration.  
  
Startling her, he suddenly moved in to brush away hair that had fallen in her face. "There now. This isn't so bad, is it?," and, not giving her a chance to respond, he barreled on in his narrative. She didn't pay so much attention anymore, her mind occupied otherwise with his question.  
  
This isn't so bad. In fact, I'm having a good time.  
  
He said something funny then, reaching in to touch her arm, his hand turning a friendly touch into an intimate caress, and she laughed.  
  
I'm having a wonderful time.  
  
End  
  
a/n. Ha! Long post! Two chapters. Don't count on this being the final edition of three, though, there are some errors I'd like to correct, but I'm desperate to know what people think of this turn in the story. So review. I hope you enjoyed it, because I've initiated one of my favorite romances, (ami/zoi) and I want to know how that scene turned out (crosses fingers please let it be well) Anyway. Read it. Review it. :) Go forth in peace.  
  
Ta. DF  
  
Later Date: Revision complete. ( 


	4. Mixed Feelings at Midnight

The Contract: Chapter Four  
  
Mixed Emotions at Midnight  
  
Serenity  
  
Wren stared at her window, regretting, for the millionth time, her decision that they return to bed, so when they confronted their problem in the morning, they'd be doing it with a clear mind. She had thought at the time that she was so tired she'd fall asleep instantly, but had within the first fifteen minutes of restless tossing and turning realized her mistake. In the half darkness, every minute seemed to last an hour, and she had long since given up looking at her clock to see how long until morning, the time inevitably depressed her. With nothing to do, not even watch the time pass, she lay on her side, facing the wall–wondering incessantly about the man on her couch. Who was he? What had his parents been like? What were his attitudes toward marriage? What were his attitudes toward politics? Would they get along? The questions swirled endlessly in her mind, and she was so fatigued she couldn't resist their whirlwind, allowed it to pull her up into a dizzy sky. It distracted her from her weariness, and from the nightmare that had become her life.  
  
After what felt like an eternity of listening to her mind produce queries it could not answer, she gave up. Silently, she slipped her robe on again, and left her bedroom in pursuit of a glass of water. As she padded across the living room, making sure to move behind the couch so that she wouldn't disturb her guest, she paused.  
  
Temptation drew her to peer over the edge, temptation to get a good look at him—she hadn't been able to see him properly when they'd been standing in the doorway, and she wanted to know what he really looked like. Besides, she thought as she crept towards the makeshift bed, it's not like it'll hurt anything just to look.  
  
When she reached it, she dropped to her hands and knees, and slowly rose until she could just make out his face.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
  
Wren leaped back from the couch as if it had bitten her, squeaking in surprise. Her breath came in fast, terrified pants; she put a hand to her heart. She couldn't remember ever being so scared in her life.  
  
The form of a man rose up from the couch, in the half light he was so thrown in shadows that she could barely make out his face. His voice, though, was very amused and she figured he must be smiling. "Well. If you wanted to get a good look at me, that wasn't exactly the best way to go about it."  
  
Her breath had returned enough that she could reply in consternation, "Who says I was trying to look at you?"  
  
"What else could you possibly be doing?"  
  
"Um...checking to make sure everything was okay? I couldn't sleep." She added the last bit somewhat defensively.  
  
"Well, whether or not everything was okay then, I'm up now. Truth is," she could hear another smile in his voice, "I couldn't sleep either. Wanna give up on the whole idea, and just talk or something?"  
  
She practically leaped around the couch, landing on it heavily and taking a sitting position next to him. "That would be wonderful."  
  
He chuckled, and she enjoyed the sound, it was rich and deep and good natured. It was lower than his voice, sounding from deep in his throat; it reminded her of her father's laugh. She smiled.  
  
"What should we talk about?" She didn't want to have to be the conversation starter, she hardly knew him, after all.  
  
"How about you?"  
  
She laughed, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. She was embarrassed at saying yes, but she didn't want to say no either–she had a load to get off her chest. Hesitantly, she said, "Okay. I really have no idea what to say, though."  
  
"Why couldn't you sleep?" Through the gloom, she saw his intense gaze, and felt her face flush.  
  
"Well, I guess it's all been so much, lately. First all my friends leave me, off to marry men they don't even know, and they left me all alone, and I've never been alone before. I hate it so much," she felt tears come to her eyes, but now that she finally had someone to talk to, it was impossible to stem the emotions and thoughts that had been pent up in her, "I think I'll go insane. Plus, I'm so worried, these days."  
  
"About what?" He sounded concerned, but not too much so, and Wren was glad, because if she had heard pity in his voice, she would have broken down.  
  
"About everything. What if it doesn't work out with their marriages? What if they're stuck with real monsters? Mako's the only one that's really strong, of all of them, they could be abused, and have no way to stop it, because you know if we annul these marriages, terrible things will happen. And I worry about how they'll take it–I just know Rei will be disagreeable and ruin any chance of happiness she has, and Mina will be confrontational and too pushy, and even though Mako and Ami will try to make the best of it, I just know how it'll fall out–Ami will be too quiet and prudish and she'll never get to know her husband, and Mako will withdraw into herself, and never let her husband get to know her. And then there's me," she felt the tears start to run down her cheeks, and her breath hitched. "I'm scaring myself. I'm never hungry, and I've lost a lot of weight, and my hair falls out all the time, and I'd throw up a lot, only I don't eat, so there's nothing to throw up, and I'm always feeling dizzy or having a head ache and I don't know what's going on with my body–do you have any idea how scary that is?" She was sobbing now, clutching the blanket to her like a lifeline, but at the same time filled with relief that she had finally told someone–now that they were out in the open, her worries would stop plaguing her, she was sure--now that she wasn't alone.  
  
Her listener didn't respond to her question, but when she looked over at him, she could see him looking at her with that same focused gaze. When their eyes met, he murmured, "Come here."  
  
Without thought, she crawled into his arms, and cried herself sick onto his shoulder. All the while, he stroked her back and murmured softly in her ear, "I know what it's like to be afraid, don't worry, I'll find away to fix it," over and over until she had wrung herself dry.  
  
Choking on the last of her sobs, she managed to stutter, "And n-now you think I'm w-weak."  
  
He took both her shoulders in his hands, then, and turned her so that she faced him. "Serenity, look at me. You have shown me no sign of weakness this entire time. Unless you're behavior drastically changes, then there's no way I'd ever consider you weak. Do you hear me?"  
  
She nodded, hiccuping slightly. Falling into his chest again so that she could hug him, she spoke into his chest, "Thank you so much, you've been a wonderful listener, I feel so much better, thank you." She squeezed him tight, trying to explain without words how much it meant to her that she had been able to tell someone everything that had been bothering her, how much it had helped her.  
  
He rubbed her back. "It's okay." She pulled away, and looked him in the eyes again, and saw that his eyes were serious. "Now, let's think of some solutions for these problems, hey? I can't do much for your friends, but I am fresh out of med school, so I can help you with the other problem. What you described sounded like acute stress to me, and the most ideal treatment would be to remove the cause of stress, but since that's impossible, I guess we'll have to settle with reducing the pressure on you. Now" he waggled a finger in her face, "as your doctor, I have an order for you. You must promise me you'll eat exactly what I say to, because your self induced starvation," at the frightened look she sent him he nodded, "yes, that's what it was, starvation, has decimated your stores of essential vitamins, minerals and nutrients, which causes the hair loss, headaches, dizziness etcetera. If I have to spoon feed you I will, but you are going to eat, do you hear me?"  
  
"Yes." She stood up, shaking the blanket off her and smiling, trying to reduce the seriousness of the mood. "On that note, how's about some breakfast? I'll eat if you cook."  
  
He stood up as well, and she thought she heard him grumble, "Now what kind of deal is that?", but she wasn't sure.  
  
Beaming now, the heaviness of the night lifted from her, she turned to the window, looking forward the sun, and was disappointed to see an overcast sky.  
  
The night was over, but she could not see the dawn.  
  
Minako  
  
Mina woke more relaxed than she'd ever been in her life. This was, of course, until she remembered that she had been passed out in a strange man's house for the past–she checked her watch–six hours and that it was midnight. She was in the process of putting her shoes back on so she could get the hell out of there when she heard two voices from the room just outside, one very masculine and the other definitely female. What was worse, the woman was giggling and the man was speaking in low tones, between long bouts of noises that Mina took to signify kissing. She understood nothing but a sentence of the man's that made her heart freeze, "Let's go to the spare bedroom, it's closer."  
  
Panicked, she glanced hurriedly about, all the while her mind furiously calculating all possibilities. Was it safe to assume that this wasn't the spare bedroom? No, she shook her head, that was inviting disaster. She heard footsteps outside the door, and came to a hasty conclusion of the easiest way to buy herself some time.  
  
She lay back, pulled the blanket over her, and faked sleep.  
  
The door opened. Mina could tell because of the cool rush of air into the room, it disturbed some of the hairs on her head. Then a thump and a moan, she didn't even want to think about what was going on, and some of those disturbing noises you heard in trashy romantic films just when the couple gets together. She heard fabric rustle and fall to the floor, and then the man said, "Let's get to the bed."  
  
Mina glared inwardly at the possessor of that voice, he was developing a habit of saying things that made her life entirely more difficult.  
  
There were more footsteps and noises that told her they didn't consider maneuvering about the room important enough to stop making out, she hoped desperately they didn't sit on her, and then came a shriek.  
  
It appeared she'd been discovered.  
  
Deciding the volume of that noise was enough to disturb and person that was really asleep, she moaned and shifted around, grumbling "Mom, give me five more minutes."  
  
She was not given five more minutes. She was given a voice that was far to similar to the shriek yelling practically in her ear "Kunzite, I demand to know who this is!"  
  
Blinking and sitting up in what she hoped was a good impersonation of a sleeper who had really been disturbed, she looked around blankly until she saw the man, then smiled. He had said all those inconvenient things. He deserved punishment. Smiling at the cleverness of her conniving little mind, she purred, "Kunzite, darling, your home?"  
  
He blanched. Mina resisted the urge to cackle. Then that screechy voice again. "Kunzite DARLING? Since when were you Kunzite DARLING? You don't even like it when I call you darling!" Mina found herself particularly unwilling to look at it's owner, so she focused on the great lump of a man standing in front of her. He was tall, and hugely built, with broad shoulders and large hands, but he still managed to be thin. She glanced over his clothes, apparently the clothing that had been lost had not belonged to him, and found him well dressed. His hair was an odd shade of blonde, almost like Wren's, and it shone silver in the poor light. It was long, to, but decidedly sexy. She smiled and forgot to suppress it.  
  
That action she instantly regretted, as it made that woman yell again. "What are you smiling at? Checking him out, seeing if he'll be a good lay? No," Mina felt the stranger's anger shift over to Kunzite, and was glad she didn't have to deal with it anymore, "she'd already know that, wouldn't she? As she's probably been you're WHORE for the past three MONTHS!"  
  
Mina found herself becoming more and more annoyed with the speaker. Glaring, she turned to face her, and was pleased to see a woman with no natural beauty, but a whole lot of make-up and a full chest. "Excuse me, whoever you are, but it would be kind of hard for me to be his whore as I'm already his wife."  
  
The woman backed up, stuttering. "H-h-his w-w-w-wife?"  
  
Mina nodded. "Yes. His wife. Now, believe me, my husband and I are going to have a serious discussion about this whole thing as soon as you're gone, but we can't do that until you leave, so" her voice dropped, unlike the woman, she preferred a more subtle intimidation tactic, "get out of my apartment."  
  
Her ears were spared any more of that terrible, high pitched voice. The woman turned on her heel and left, picking up her shirt on her way out. After listening intently for the slam of the front door, she turned to face the man, who was staring at her awkwardly.  
  
Noticing her gaze, his hands shifted, as if he wanted to tug at his collar, but had more self control. "Well, I suppose you must be Minako."  
  
"Pleased to meet you." She tried to sound chipper, but it was extraordinarily difficult when she found her husband of several hours already entrenched in an affair. Somehow, being always hailed as one of the most beautiful women anyone had ever met, she hadn't thought that would be a problem she'd deal with in her marriage.  
  
He seemed to decide ignoring the problem was a good way to deal with it. "I see you've found your bedroom."  
  
She raised her eyebrows. "I see yours is already occupied."  
  
"About that–"  
  
She rolled her eyes now, and gestured to the door. "Leave, I need more sleep." When he didn't move, she idly started removing her shoes. When she looked up and he was still there, she decided her message needed to be enforced. "Look, I've found you having an affair hours into our marriage, so there's nothing you can say to me that will feasibly get you out of my doghouse. And I have absolutely nothing to say to you."  
  
That brought him round. He left, and she collapsed, exhausted from what had just transpired and the strain she foresaw in her future.  
  
It was way too much to think about, so she gave up thinking all together.  
  
Rei  
  
When they got up to the room, Jaedite opened the door, and Rei walked in, her nerves still humming pleasantly from his caresses at dinner and the alcohol, enough that so when he started kissing her, she didn't mind, and when he pressed her up against the wall it felt good enough for her to respond to him eagerly. He was a proficient kisser, she thought blearily, arching into him, as he continued his violent attack on her mouth. His hand tightened about her waist at her response, drawing her into him, and he made a noise low in his throat. She laughed against his mouth, and he abruptly withdrew it, using it instead to suck and nibble on her neck. She enjoyed that feeling immensely, and closed her eyes to let it seep into her. The pleasurable, giddy feeling remained until he maneuvered her to the couch; then, suddenly, everything focused in her mind, every image became sharp, and her perception was acute.  
  
Though the man she was with would only ever remember that night as a hot, sweaty affair on the couch, and later the bed, of the honeymoon suit, it would exist in Rei's mind with perfect clarity until the day she died. The sensations would remain with her into old age; the feeling of one of his hands slipping the zipper of her dress down, and both his hands against her shoulders as he slid the thing off her, the cool texture of the couch beneath her as he placed her onto it, the way her hands felt around his buttons, undoing them one by one, and taking his shirt off. She would know always the smoothness of his skin under her fingers as she ran her hands over his back, and the shock of his body against hers when they returned to passionate kissing. She could retrace perfectly the path of one of her hands that twisted itself in his hair, and the silky feeling that made her dizzy. She knew always precisely how long it had taken before kissing was no longer enough, and she undid the zipper of his pants. She could recall exactly the lightness in her body when he swung her up into his arms, how she maneuvered that they could kiss even as he carried her to the bed. She would recollect, when she was old and her skin wrinkled, how the mattress was soft and giving beneath her as he lay her down on it, in sharp contrast to the hard heat of his muscles as he straddled her, and the desire running hot along her veins as she felt his legs across her hips. She would remember knowing that soon, all this would be over, and in an attempt to prolong her current ecstasy, she rolled him over, and placed warm little kisses along his chest. And then, in a quick movement, she was on the bottom again, and he was in her, pushing her closer and closer to infinity.  
  
And then when it was ended, and he was sleeping beside her, she would create what would be her most poignant memory of that consummation. She lay awake for hours, aware of his breathing and his fingers running across her even in sleep, and she would know that she had given herself to a man that had removed her from what she loved most, and a terrible guilt rose up in her, and she cried the first tears she would spill over him; they ran hot down her face, until she collapsed into her dreams.  
  
End  
  
A/N. Well. Another one done. One thing you can't say about me is I'm not bored, or at a complete loss as to what to do with my time. That's exactly how I manage to make so many posts. Um...funny thing about this chapter, the timeline is sorta backwards. Rei's little tryst with Jadeite occurred first, then Mina's thing-a-mi-gig with Kunzite and his lover, then Wren and Mamo-chan's little get together. As to those things, I thought I wrote the R/J thing with very little prologue, but anything I put in front of that first sentence seemed all wrong, even though I felt my readers need a bit more of the dinner flirtation that was alluded to. Suffice it to say they both got drunk and he groped her. I like the ending of it, angsty, which, I feel, is how R/J always end up, they're too volatile to be different. As to Mina and Kunz, I surprise myself at putting him in an affair, but I sorta like it. It's definitely not changing. Also, I don't like the perception of Mina as a dumb, fluffy blonde, which rarely occurs in these gens/senshi things, but I resent when it pops elsewhere. So I tried to give her depth, and their relationship a different dimension. As for the S/M, I couldn't resist some fluff. I like the way it ended up, though that's about as much fluff as I can stand in one chapter.  
  
Yeah. So. Revised it. Woop woop.  
  
DF 


	5. Dawn

The Contract : Chapter Five  
  
Dawn  
  
The room was as dark and drab as usual when he entered it for the meeting he was accustomed to having with Luna before their official conference with Serenity. He glanced at it and smirked at the woman who stood barely visible in the poor light. "Operating at status quo, I see."  
  
"Hello, Artemis." Her voice was careful and guarded. He frowned.  
  
"Why Luna, whatever happened to your usual civility?"  
  
She frowned. "I'm being perfectly civil."  
  
Deciding that this line of talk would get him no where, he abandoned it. "Well, whether you are or not, that isn't what I came here to talk to you about?"  
  
"You mean there is a reason for this get together other than business?" Her sarcastic surprise made him sigh tiredly.  
  
"It's business that I want to discuss with you, Luna love, if you would stop being so obtuse." She said nothing, and he could feel her glower from where he stood. Deciding that her silence meant he could continue, he pressed on. "I've thought of something to do that would help our little project along."  
  
She raised an eyebrow. He moved to sit on the couch, and she came to stand near him. "You have my undivided attention."  
  
"The spying we've been doing on them has been extensive and complete, and I'm sure you've come to the same conclusion I have from the information we've gathered: things aren't moving fast enough." She opened her mouth to speak, he held up a hand to stop her. "Yes, I know you'll write this off as another proof that I seek instant gratification, but with this project, things need to move quickly. They need to make the right connections between each other and work before their past their prime, or forgotten by the public eye. Right now both figureheads hold considerable sway over the people. All that could diminish."  
  
"What's your plan?"  
  
He smiled, it was characteristic of Luna not to validate his theories and move on to the problem at hand. Characteristic, but annoying. "They need a little push in the right direction."  
  
She sighed in frustration. "Artemis, you know as well as I do that people cannot be forced to collaborate."  
  
"I do. But that wasn't the kind of push I was talking about. At this moment, they've lost track of their goals, of their careers. They think all is lost, that they won't be allowed to do anything ever again because the Augustus Company holds all the strings. They don't realize the only boundaries are in their minds, that the Company won't hold them back. We need to empower them so that they can move forward once more."  
  
There was no witty comeback. He looked up at his partner and was pleasantly surprised to see her considering, seriously considering this theory. When she spoke, the mocking tone had left her voice. "You still haven't told me what you plan to do."  
  
"We need to let them know, anonymously, of course, how to proceed."  
  
"Well, that's not going to be easy."  
  
"It is your area of expertise, Luna. If you would help me, I would gladly leave the planning in your capable hands."  
  
She smiled and sat next to him. "Flattery will get you no where."  
  
"So you'll do it?" He hoped his tone held the right amount of plead, that he hadn't over done it.  
  
She smirked up at him. "What, not going to shower me with more of your trademark charm?"  
  
He quirked an eyebrow. "I think the charm-showering can wait until a time when our boss is not five minutes from walking in on us. When we reach such a time," he reached down and ran two fingers down her arm, "believe me, you'll be more than showered enough."  
  
"Is that a bribe?"  
  
He smiled, his expression intimate. "Do you want it to be?"  
  
Makoto  
  
It was raining, in thick, heavy drops that fell with a soft thud-thud against the windows. It was also ten in the morning, and she was wrapped in a blanket, doing something totally at odds with her character.  
  
"I'm hiding" Makoto muttered, sinking lower in the mattress, trying to hide from the fact. At the sound of her voice, she groaned—hiding sounded so low, something she would normally consider totally beneath her. But nothing was normal right now, and this was her escape.  
  
"Besides," she muttered, in an attempt to console herself, "it's not like you're hiding from one person in particular. You're just sort of avoiding the entire world."  
  
She groaned again and let herself fall face first into her comforter. "I'm so pathetic."  
  
Resolving to stop talking to herself, as it only made her feel worse anyway, she returned to her thoughts, trying to make heads or tails of the situation before her. Yesterday, she'd had a perfectly delightful dinner with a man she'd met hours before; it had given her time to decide that maybe, just maybe, she was falling for him, just a bit. He was, after all, charming and handsome, and beneath his serious demeanor his sense of humor was on par with hers. And he had smiled at her in the candlelight and paid attention to her and laughed when she said something funny and had said intelligent, relevant things when she'd been solemn. The catalyst to her growing attraction had come when he had walked her back to her room after dinner, when she had looked up into his face and seen his eyes clearly as he smiled down at her, and then she had suddenly become aware that he was attracted to her.  
  
She didn't know how it had happened—in middle and high school all she could remember was being to tall for any guy in his right mind to like, and then in college falling prey to the match-making schemes of her friends who assumed she wanted romance instead of a casual friendship. She couldn't count the number of times Mina had bustled over to her, smiling that secretive smile and said to her in conspiratorial tones, "thus and such likes you", and Mako had felt flattered and pleased and had even tried flirting with the man in question on several occasions, only to leave with a sense that Mina had been making the whole thing up and that he was really thoroughly engrossed in someone else. Between these little sparks of hope, though, she'd taken a back seat to Mina, Rei and Wren's busy dating life, playing the role of a mother when they needed comfort and snapping them out of a daze when they needed that. Then college had been over in a blur and she hadn't thought much about guys anymore—work had been consuming. So her total knowledge of men through dating was nil.  
  
She remembered, out of the blue, her mother smiling down at her as she bemoaned another unrequited crush in high school. "Don't worry, Makoto, darling. You will be a popular object of affection some day, and when that day comes, you'll know. A woman always knows when a man likes her." The woman speaking had smiled and tapped her nose secretively, and teenage Mako had giggled. "It's like a sixth sense."  
  
Makoto had never experienced that sixth sense in action before, and wondered if last night had been just that. At least, she had wondered in a hopeful, happy daze as she tossed and turned all night, until the dim light of dawn had snapped her back into reality.  
  
Reality had consisted of several dispirited, unhappy thoughts that he wouldn't like her and couldn't like her and it was unreasonable to expect it. Reality had lasted all of fifteen minutes before she had recognized self-pity in herself, and snapped out of it. Now she was in a realm of grey uncertainty that had made her want to hide.  
  
Instead of resisting that feeling, as she usually would have, she succumbed to it, and here she was, no more certain of anything than she had been two hours ago.  
  
If I was at home, Mako thought, I would go do something physical. Anything would do. But here, in this strange new house, she was too unknowledgeable about the patterns her husband and his butler lived by. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him by doing something and causing a rift that could have been avoided.  
  
So she stayed put, hiding from the world and the rain and the tall-dark-and- handsome that kept intruding on her thoughts.  
  
Half an hour later, her brood was interrupted by another sort of intrusion. It was the butler, rapping softly at the frame of her open door. "Would you come down to breakfast, ma'am?"  
  
Her stomach twisted at the thought of breakfast, but she managed to smile. "No, thanks, I'm not very hungry right now."  
  
He raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. "Breakfast is accustomed here."  
  
"I know. I'm just, not feeling up to it this morning. After traveling and everything."  
  
He inclined his head into something that was between a nod and a bow. "I shall make your excuses to the master." He left as softly as he had come, leaving a woman behind whose confusion had suddenly been tempered by the unhappy awareness that this visit would herald another that she wasn't quite ready to face.  
  
Makoto sighed and got out of bed, reaching for her clothes. The solitude she had found in morning was slipping away, and half of her felt her sanity was going with it. Impatiently, she tugged a pair of jeans up around her thighs, brushing that side of herself to the back of her mind. She'd done enough sulking. She'd best just face this thing head on, the way she was used to.  
  
"You hear that, buddy?" she asked the mirror, forgetting her previous vow to stop talking to herself, "Bring it on."  
  
Ami  
  
Water poured cool and comforting over her hands as she moved them in circles across the face of a plate. She enjoyed the feel of it, the slight slickness of her fingers, the sliding sensation across her skin. She gave the plate one last sweep and examined it for a moment before putting it in the dish washer as her eyes flicked up to the window. It was raining outside, a raging, steady storm that beat against the roof and sides of the building—the sound of it echoed through the room and made her want to dance. Thick ropes of rain draped over her view of the city and she rejoiced in the power of the weather, a relief from the soft drizzle they'd been experiencing for weeks. The view made her come to a realization—the gradual insight only something so calming can bring. She was...content. Ami smiled a shocked little smile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to say that—she'd always been so caught up in the whirlwind that was political life she hadn't know what state of mind she was in, only that she was happy. Now, though, her hunger satisfied, the delight of the morning about her, she knew the happiness was gone, but so was the rush. A lingering smile entered her eyes. Suddenly she had time to enjoy everything at a pace all her own. She chose—and reveled in the choice—to continue to watch the water, to relish it, entranced.  
  
So completely lost was she in the weather she did not hear the man as he crept up behind her, did not see him pull himself into a sitting position on the counter beside her, did not notice him until he called softly in her ear, "Ami."  
  
Startled, Ami jumped and spun to face him, her face pale and breathing rapid. When she saw who it was, however, she sighed and tried to calm down. "Oh. It's you."  
  
He was silent, watching her catch her breath. She looked up at him, his gaze immediately moved away to the window that had occupied her, leaving his profile for her study. His mouth was set in a soft frown, his eye brows furrowed slightly; his eyes stared unseeing at the sky. Sighing inwardly in frustration, Ami wished for the tenth time that morning that she knew him better, well enough to tell what this expression meant. It was a knowledge only time would lend, though, and she knew not to confuse herself by guessing at his thoughts. She focused on the cup she was cleaning, and waited for him to speak.  
  
He took longer than she had expected. She'd finished with the cup, and a bowl, and a coffee mug, and it was still silent, despite the fact that Ami had devoted considerable time to each dish being very thorough. Finally, though, as she was reaching for the last item in the sink, he turned to her again. She looked up just at the movement. "We have to talk."  
  
"I know." And she did know. She'd been dreading this conversation since they sat down for breakfast, anticipating how awkward and odd it would feel explaining every aspect of herself that she could to a total stranger.  
  
"Well. That puts us in a difficult situation." He looked back at the window. "I have no idea how to start, and unless you do..." she shook her head, though he couldn't see her. Apparently he had assumed her negative, because he continued, "then here we, we know have to do this, with no way to get going."  
  
She sighed, and shut the dishwasher with a soft click. It hummed to life beneath her fingers, and she concentrated on the vibration, trying to ignore the weight of the responsibility to speak on her shoulders. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands so hard against the machine they turned pale.  
  
And she said nothing.  
  
The silence stretched until she felt it had driven her mad, until she wanted to scream at him 'just start talking! I can't do it, you have to!', but her voice had left her and all she could do was stare down at the washing machine and feel an anxious dread.  
  
Movement in the corner of her eye attracted her attention to him, she turned to face him just as he leaped off the counter and sprinted through the door. Shocked, all she could do was stare at the place he had vacated, with no idea what happened or what to do. She was spared from having to sort that out, however, as he appeared again in the doorway, holding a yellow bottle of alcohol and two champagne flutes.  
  
The obvious conclusion snapped into her mind, and with it came her voice.  
  
"No," she said, backing away from him as if he would give her the plague, "no, absolutely not."  
  
"What?" He sounded genuinely curious. She refused to validate a question so stupid with an answer, and he apparently came to the right conclusion all on his own, because he sounded exasperated when he spoke next. "Good lord. You can't be serious."  
  
She let her silence tell him that she was perfectly serious indeed.  
  
"Come on. You know the only way we'll relax enough to actually start talking to each other is if we get good and...relaxed."  
  
"Relaxed? Is that what you're calling it?" She was incredulous, she couldn't believe he was asking her to do this.  
  
"Ami..." she couldn't believe he was practically whining, "come on. The last thing I want to do is spend the rest of my life awkwardly fumbling for a way to get us talking. The alcohol will do it for us, and then neither you nor I will have to feel as if we said something stupid to start talking." She couldn't believe he was making sense.  
  
And she couldn't believe, a second later, that she was agreeing.  
  
Minako  
  
The breakfast table was quiet.  
  
Very quiet.  
  
She looked up at her husband, who was chewing and reading the paper with a studiously neutral expression on his face. He hadn't looked at her once in the course of the meal, nor had he made an attempt at conversation. The only words he'd spoken since she'd dragged herself into the kitchen that morning had been "food there, bowls there, spoons there"—accompanied with appropriate points to ensure her comprehension. Then he'd poured milk onto his bowl of raw oatmeal (she'd gagged inwardly) and proceeded to eat.  
  
In silence.  
  
Grinding her teeth in annoyance, Minako looked back down at her bowl of cereal and wished she'd had the presence of mind to bring something to do. Of course, she'd assumed that the morning would be spent in a fight about the previous night. She'd expected anger and shouting followed by a brooding mope, anything but this torturous, polite meal. Anything but the smothering quiet.  
  
Deciding it would probably be less frustrating for her if she just ignored the problem, like he seemed to have no problem doing, Mina resolved to clear her mind and stop thinking altogether.  
  
...a few minutes later when she found herself chasing a grain of her (mercifully cooked) oatmeal around with her spoon like it was the most entertaining thing in the world, she decided things had gone too far. Breaking the silence was on her shoulders.  
  
This initiated a whole new line of thought. What, exactly, was one supposed to say to a man who chose to ignore major problems such as being caught in an affair? The fact that he was gutless enough to hide from this kind of thing meant that a calm, reasonable discussion would probably go completely over his head—in her years of experience, she'd found cowards to generally be demanding, unthinking people that had a tendency to rub her the wrong way.  
  
As she pondered her tactic, she glanced at him again. He was still just sitting there, empty bowl now pushed aside, intent on the paper. She glanced down at her watch. 10 AM. Why was he still here?  
  
All thoughts of strategy aside, she blurted out, "Don't you have a job?"  
  
He looked up at her and appeared genuinely surprised. "What?"  
  
She rolled her eyes—cowardly and stupid. "A job. You know, nine to five at the office. Paycheck on Friday. The occupation of most of America."  
  
He looked at her as if she the one was being stupid and went back to the paper.  
  
Just like that. No response.  
  
Well, Mina thought, looking down at her half eaten bowl of oatmeal, if that's the way it's gonna be, then that's the way it's gonna be.  
  
And that was that.  
  
End  
  
a.n. sorry about the long break, I was on vacation for two weeks. Forgot to mention that in my last authors note. Enjoy the chapter. Read, review. I'm going to stop talking and post this baby now.  
  
Ciao  
  
DF 


	6. Walls

The Contract : Chapter Six  
  
Walls  
  
Nephrite  
  
The feeling of giving carpet against the soles of his feet was comforting—a familiar sensation in a house that was still very new to him, at a point in life that made him a stranger even in his most private actions, unsure of what to do, and how to do it, ever afraid the ground would fall away beneath him. He clung to that sensation, the reassurance he found in the woven fibers, thinking all the while how pathetic it was that a grown man had to resort to a rug as one of the constants in his life. Breathing away that self-deprecation, pushing it from his mind, he focused again on the problem at hand—namely, one Makoto Kino and all the variables she brought to his already shaky position.  
  
Taking a sip of coffee, (black, the way he liked it and had always liked it) he folded his hands about the warm mug, consideration marking the lines of his face. She was, without a doubt, a problem that would require immediate and decisive attention. That necessity, he thought with a frown, was an issue he had brought upon himself by sending the butler up to collect her, knowing as he had that she would not be collected. Further more, the action of sending the butler would alert her to the fact that he was intent on paying attention to her, when she didn't come, she would expect him to go to her and pay his attentions in that manner. If he didn't, if he refused to conform to her expectations, he would be choosing a course of action that he would not normally have selected, throwing both her and himself into doubt of his character that would produce problems either immediately or in the future. So his course of action, at least to a point, was very clear-cut.  
  
It was what to do after that point that worried him.  
  
Groaning softly, he took another biting gulp of burning liquid, and put his head in his hands. Their interaction last night, though it had lasted till ten, had been altogether too short. He needed a better sense of her, of what she was like, and what she would think of one thing or another, and how to talk to her. Most importantly how to talk to her. With most people, and herein lay the difficulty that caused him greatest frustration, he could tell almost immediately the manner in which he should address them. It was in the way they struck him, the way they moved and spoke, the way they presented their ideas, or if they presented them at all. She had struck him a million ways at once, shattering his stereotypes in one fell stroke. She moved with confidence, hesitated, then acted with a decisive abandon. She spoke bluntly, but was still bothered by the limitations of society, and stricter limits of her own—she had blushed when he touched her, or when he caught her staring at him. Blurring all aspects of these perceptions was the way he had received them, finding her charming, funny, and beautiful, and that put him on unsure footing.  
  
So unsure, in fact, that when the butler appeared at the bottom of the stairs empty handed as he had expected, he had yet to decide on a course of action.  
  
Thus indecisive, he made one sharp choice, and with it's motivation, he climbed the stairs and approached her bedroom door. What he saw there stopped him dead.  
  
She was standing on the other side of the bed, wearing only an oversized shirt and white underwear, and was in the process of removing the shirt.  
  
Nephrite felt a sudden fire consume his body.  
  
The cloth slid slowly, impossibly slowly, up her back and over her head, bearing as it did the two depressions at the small of her back, and the long indention that marked her spinal cord, and a otherwise smooth expanse of unblemished flesh. Her neck, for her hair exposed it, turned as she reached for another shirt, then slipped that one around her body. The gentle slope of it into her shoulders fascinated him, and the thin marks of veins he could see in it, and the soft protrusion of her chin. She reached next for a worn pair of jeans, and the sight of them masking the cool porcelain of her legs made every inch of his skin itch.  
  
He waited until she had fastened them, then took the final steps into her doorway, and tapped lightly on the frame, hoping desperately his face was not flushed.  
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
She turned, startled, then nodded upon seeing who it was, an odd, mixed emotion fleeting behind them, before she smiled and it disappeared.  
  
"Sure. Make yourself at home." She gestured to her bare desk, which he promptly moved towards, noticing as he did the smell that had permeated the room—something he couldn't identify, but made slightly intoxicated.  
  
She had, without his noticing, made herself at home on her bed, and was now looking at him with an expectancy that put him off guard.  
  
It made him direct, more direct than he might have been otherwise. "Why weren't you at breakfast?"  
  
She had anticipated the question, he could tell, and had in a hurried way prepared for it. Her answer was immediate. "I usually eat a little later."  
  
She meant, of course, that she had meant to avoid him. But her concealment of the facts in pleasantries made his life easier, made both their lives in pleasantries. "Oh? Around when? I would be happy to accommodate you, as you are the only company I can expect, and I would really rather us not eat alone."  
  
There. That had been relatively easy. Now the ball was in her court, she could choose to return his invitation or not. She smiled, and the flush he had noticed last night brushed her cheeks. "Okay." Then, starting, she realized that wouldn't fully answer his questions. "Oh, I don't think it matters what my routine used to be—those were very different circumstances." The shadowed sadness that flitted behind her eyes when she said this caused him to want to go to her so fervently that he had to grip the edges of the desk to restrain himself. His instinct to protect her was almost overwhelming.  
  
She smiled brightly again, and he realized the tables had been turned and it was his turn to respond. "Well, the servants seem intent on preparing meals at eight, noon, and eight on the dot. They're the ones that are really in control here. Came with the house, you know, and know exactly what they think should be done and when and how."  
  
"Okay. Sounds great. I'll see you for lunch at twelve, then." She stood, and he realized she wanted them to be done.  
  
He rose, too, and started to the door, before turning and blurting, "Do you want to come walking with me? The grounds are really lovely."  
  
She shook her head slightly, and he was abruptly pushed a thousand miles away form her, despite the fact they stood in the same room. "No, thanks, I have things I still need to do here. I will be down for lunch, though." And her eyes asked him to leave, so he could do nothing else.  
  
He leaned against the wall a scant five paces from her door, his breathing heavy and his mind weary. A sadness filled him, a sadness he couldn't explain. In his mind, though, one thought circled around and around; and things had been going so well.  
  
Rei  
  
Her limbs were heavy and, it seemed, adhered to the bed—at any rate, the sheer effort she would have to put into lifting them was enormous, and far too tiring to be worth it. Besides, the bed she lay on was extraordinarily comfortable, the sheets soft, and the pillows giving, so she felt no great desire to leave it. There was, she reflected, no need that she could think of, everything that was addressed in the morning was of no concern to her until Makoto set breakfast on the table, at which point, someone would come wake her and she would dress and enjoy the food, the day spread before her the very picture of total possibility.  
  
It was at this point that the pleasant sensation of soft kisses along her shoulders shattered her fantasy and forced her to roll over and face the menace that was her actions of the night before embodied into one devilishly handsome young man. Who was smiling at her, in an alarmingly disarming manner.  
  
This left Rei with only two courses of action—fall wantonly into his arms and repeat the blissful act of making love to him, or fall on the default response that had served her well her whole life long.  
  
Her choice was clear.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She asked, her voice low, a warning of the tempest to come.  
  
He raised his eyebrows and seemed completely undisturbed, indeed, his smile broadened. "Nothing that I didn't do last night."  
  
That was, quite plainly to Rei, a barb. He was teasing her, testing how angry she would be come. Well, if that's the way he wanted to play it, then that's the way they would play it.  
  
"And you think that last night was so enjoyable that I would like any repeat, even in the smallest part?"  
  
Again, he was nonplussed. His reaction, or lack thereof, was being to annoy her. "You certainly seemed to find it so."  
  
She stared at him, speechless at his nerve, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Well, I wouldn't have if I had known then you were such an ass."  
  
He clutched his chest and looked up at her with big, puppy eyes. "Fair lady, you cut me to the quick."  
  
She frowned at him, trying to revive the burning rage that had left her without her knowing it. When had that happened, Rei wondered for a second, before realizing she had to think of a flip remark to meet his last one. "You mean the act of getting a woman stark drunk and seducing her didn't cut you enough?"  
  
He seemed about to reply for a moment, he tapped one finger against his chin and looked up in a mock serious ponder, and then, quick as a flash, he had reached out and grabbed her and the next thing she knew he had gotten on top of her and she was back on the bed.  
  
Her scream of surprised anger was muffled by his mouth, hungrily pressed against hers, but he hadn't thought it necessary to restrain her hands, so the next second they were apart again, he gasping and startled by her push.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
He seemed almost angry, and she almost recoiled from that, but then his smile was back on, if it looked a little forced.  
  
"Alright." His grin took on a almost wistful turn, that made her heart bleed. "I can take a hint," his eyebrows quirked, "fair lady doesn't want to be wooed."  
  
He stood, leaving a very startled Rei alone on the bed.  
  
"Wait!" He turned, and now he couldn't mask the sadness in his eyes. She took a deep breath, because she wanted to know that she was still alive—for a moment she had felt that part of her had died along with him. "Where are you going?"  
  
His expression then was like none she'd ever seen. "Away."  
  
And then he was gone.  
  
Rei took a gasping breath that hitched somewhere between her lungs and her mouth, collapsing onto the bed. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, and ran down her face, and she remembered that she had cried last night, but that seemed a million years ago, her sobs now were motivated by something so completely different.  
  
She looked at the door, but couldn't see it—she was crying now harder than she ever had before in her life.  
  
"Dammit. Dammit!"  
  
And outside her room, a man leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and wondering when exactly she had become so important to him that her pain burned his throat.  
  
"Dammit."  
  
Mamoru  
  
"Well, I grew up in California, by the ocean. Long beach. I lived there all of my life that I can remember, at least until I went to college, at Berkley. Miracle I got in, actually. My grades weren't that good in high school. Managed to pull myself into the school though, and that was when I met the girls. This is really good. Who taught you to cook?"  
  
Mamoru, sitting across from the table from the woman who was conducting the conversation, smiled at the sudden change of topic, no longer surprised at her abrupt shifts in attention. For someone who had been sobbing at five a.m., she'd made a rapid turn around, and now was babbling to him happily about the details of her life. He posed no interference to the rather one- sided conversation, providing questions when they seemed to be needed, but mostly sitting back and absorbing the information she fed him, filing it away for later reference. Realizing rather suddenly that response was required, he started. "My four roommates, collectively. And I learned some of it on my own. Tell me about your friends."  
  
She smiled and nodded, obviously happy to comply. "Well, I'd actually known Mina a bit in high school, we lived near each other, and I saw her play volley ball when I'd go to matches. Everyone else I met at Berkley, like I said. Mina was a political science major, and I think she minored in history. Ami was in a pre-med program, and Rei had a double major in writing and psychology. Mako wasn't actually at Berkley, she was—I don't know how to put this—an apprentice, I guess, for a nearby chef. It was Mina who brought us all together, though. She and Mako had met in high school, so they were in touch. And Mina has this funny habit of seeing potential in people—she's quite brilliant, actually. She picked me and Rei out immediately, and I dragged Ami in, she'd been my tutor in chemistry, you know."  
  
He hadn't, but that was fine. He liked to watch her talk, her eyes sparkled in a way when she was talking about other people that he hadn't seen in anyone before. She wrinkled her nose when she couldn't think of the right word and was forced to use a sub-standard one. She smiled constantly, but exuded pleasure when she said a word she particularly liked, and he could tell that she enjoyed the way it rolled on her tongue. She was intent on the words, and also on their meaning, in an odd mixture of slow and fast—she wants, he thought, to tell me all this, as soon as possible and with the most economy, but she enjoys talking, enjoys language. The result was a hurried languidity that made her compelling, made a woman that might seem pretty to some beautiful. It would make every person in a room rivet to her when she spoke, he was sure. It made him hang on a long stream of babble that he would have long ago stopped paying attention to if it were delivered in any other way. It was captivating.  
  
"There was always a sense of purpose in our friendship, mostly Mina's fault. We never just hung out, it was always work on this project, or this one, and through it and after it and before it, we'd become best friends. That's when Mina and Rei sort of ignited. It was like a collective light bulb had gone off" she pantomimed this, and looked extraordinarily cute, "above our heads, but most strongly with Rei and Mina. They just kind of realized that we didn't have to stick with the silly, small town politicking we'd been doing—you know, gathering support for causes like aids and cancer and poverty. It was like we were seven years old and were playing at taking over the world, only the adults didn't call for us to come in ever, so we just kept going and going. We moved here, bought this house, and Mina got us jobs through her connections, she had modeled all over the country."  
  
She paused, waiting for him to say something, to take the opening she had left for him to change the direction of conversation.  
  
"Oh" he said.  
  
"Yeah. People knew Mina. Not who she was, so much as who she pretended to be, but that didn't matter, we got jobs. We got prestige. And she began to use me as the figurehead, and suddenly, we had more support than we needed. She always maintained I was the most sympathetic of all of us, but I don't think so. I think any of them would have worked just as well. We all pulled our part, though, in our ways, and with five of us doing it, it wasn't so much pulling as it was sprinting carrying a batton, it was as light as air. Soon we were heading for the top of the political spectrum, as Mina would put it when we took a break long enough to talk. And then, well, you know."  
  
She started eating her eggs in silence. It took him a moment to realize she had stopped talking. When he did, he asked the one question that had bugged him since he had first heard of her, before he had come here, a period in his life he was already beginning to think of as a long time ago. "Why do they call you Wren?"  
  
She laughed, and he smiled, because the sound and look of her laughing was irresistibly communicable.  
  
"That was an accident, mostly, but partially a joke on Mako's part. They all called me 'Ren' privately, you know, R-E-N, short for Serenity," she put extra stress on the middle syllable of her name, drawing a connection he hadn't noticed until then, "my full name. We had been using my given name, Serenity Tsukino, for official stuff, until one day Mako, who always dealt with things like that, was telling them my what to put on the program, and she slipped and said, 'Ren Tsukino', and the guy on the phone said 'as in the bird' and Mako thought it was all terribly funny and she said 'yes, as in the bird'. I didn't really think it was that funny, I've never considered myself to be a bird. But everyone else found it hysterical. They kept using it."  
  
"You know," he said, cocking his head to the side, as he always did when he was thinking, "I don't think you're much of a bird either."  
  
She burst out laughing. It was the funniest thing he'd said all day.  
  
End  
  
a.n. finally fixed these computer troubles. Sorry it took so long, I just really couldn't be motivated to write this—I know exactly where I want to end up, getting there's the issue. Personally, I really liked the Neph/Lita scene. The Rei/Jade seems to be going in the general direction of angst, I'm begining to think that's enevitable.  
  
On another note, I've started a new series of four one shots that concern the senshi and shittenou relinquishing their relationship. The first one is out, called 'Embers', about, guess who?, Rei/Jade. If you're interested, check it out.  
  
Finally, I've started responding to reviews, but to save space in my stories, I'm going to put that in my little 'author bio' space in my profile. So if you've reviewed and wanted to see my response, it's there.  
  
Enjoy  
  
DF 


	7. Cursed Heavy Feeling

Chapter Seven

Cursed Heavy Feeling

Minako

It had begun to rain, again, a soft, silent wash against the pane of the window, a drizzle that captured nothing of the imagination. Minako watched it with a feeling of utter detachment–nothing seemed farther away at this moment than the drops sliding through space, separated from her by a scant fingerbreadth of glass. In her mind she hovered between the sky and the world, clothed entirely in a substance that kept her separate from reality, in her mind the room behind her and all it's connotations had fallen like water from the sky, and she was all that was left, gliding over the city like a ghost.

Staring down now into the buildings she was struck by the smallness of it all, it's diminishment from her post. Before, the house they'd had was only two stories–she would look out it's windows and see the road and think that she could jump from where she was, land on that road and be carried to any part of the city. The connection, here, was lost.

She sighed and turned away from the view, throwing herself haphazardly into the nearest chair. Another person watching would have noted the underlying grace in that action, the smooth arc of her legs as they came to rest against the side of the chair, the turn of her neck as she reached toward the remote, the soft rounds of her eyes turning to face the screen. There was no other person, though; she was alone, and this beauty was lost to her solitude.

Minako watched a picture blur to life from the dark depths of the television with a quiet, uninterested focus, noting after five seconds that the volume was muted, but not caring enough to do anything. Two men sat before her, one obviously a newscaster, dressed in a suit perfectly accentuated by his tie that set off his hair and eyes, the other wearing a mussed button up lined with intricate embroidery–two halves of the screen almost painfully contrasting. They talked animatedly, though, the news man asking questions with a look of genuine interest, his subject answering with wide hand gestures and passion notable even without a voice. After a few minutes–Minako marveled at her attention span even as the time slipped away–the man turned towards the audience of one, and the picture changed.

In the chair, Mianko sat straight up and stared. The camera now panned slowly across the image of a naked woman, a chain draped about her form, catching the perfect detail of her feet and legs, the harsh iron against the pale skin of her stomach and breasts, her hands wrapped tightly around a loop of links, her eyes staring out of the portrait with a remorseful vindication. Apart from the beauty of the model, the quiet sharpness of the pose, and skill of the artist, there was nothing directly threatening or shocking about the piece–except for Minako, staring at it now, because the model was her.

In a daze, her hand found the control for volume.

"–piece is really the culmination of everything we've been talking about, all the art during the war had this sort of quality of accusation, and the soft details, if you take time to notice them, complete what might not be immediately apparant. It's called 'study of an innocent', for one thing, and general consensus is that the artist meant us to realize war affected even those not involved in it. If you look really closely at the individual links of the chain, you'll see written on them are dates–the days that major battles–"

With a frustrated click, the power was cut and the room returned to silence, apart from the heavy breathing of it's occupant.

It wasn't really so surprising, Minako told herself, unwilling to disturb the echoes of memory by speaking aloud, it was bound to happen one day. Rogan was too talented to avoid this, now that the war had ended and there was time again for art appreciation , all his work was bound to be noticed.

The words didn't cool the shock seething in her mind.

That picture had risen before her from a lifetime ago, the shod remnant of her balance on the edge of adult life; the experience behind it had given her momentum in her present direction. She remembered with clarity meeting the young, handsome artist on the curb, and the relationship that bloomed in the light of that meeting–a fascinating, passionate, torrid affair.

As she recalled the exact curves of her body upon the canvass, she recalled the exact moments that had led to the painting of them–a direct proportion that sent her spinning. That morning, as he had every morning, Rogan had read her every article in every newspaper he could find about the war. After she was sobered, he would have her sit fifty different ways, and as she assumed each pose he would reject it, quiet voice ringing through the empty apartment. Eventually he came to her in frustration, forcibly grabbing her arms and legs and molding them into the pose he'd wanted all along.

The contact of his skin on hers had seared, heating until it reached the point of impermissibility, and he had pulled her to him, and she had not resisted. Hours later, in the cool moonlight streaming from the window, she had stretched, and he kissed her languidly, and said "Just there, you're perfect just there."

And he had taken the chain from his closet, and given it to her. The metal had been cold against her skin, the rust had left orange streaks across her breasts and hands, the rough suddenness of the separation had shocked her. Staring at him with what a reviewer described later as, 'tragic, resigned indictment', she watched her first lover drift farther and farther away from her, ensnared by a beauty she could not control. That was the last time she posed for him.

Minako suddenly felt a terrible want to be with someone, anyone, again. The quiet of the house made her angry and frightened, she stood with a jerk and fled the livingroom for the comforting darkness of the hall. Passing down it with straight, quick determination, she opened the door to Kunzite's room and strode inside.

He was sitting on the bed, long hair hanging about his face and obscuring his expression. She stared at him, breath coming quickly in her lungs, as he turned his head towards her, surprise registering in his eyes. He paused a second, looking at her, she blushed under the scrutiny of his regard. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle and in no way accusatory, the sound of it was a cool reality spilling over her fevered mind.

"Minako?"

She said nothing, crossed the room and perched herself on the window sill opposite from where he sat on the bed. He watched her for a few moments, blankly, then returned to the book on his lap, one hand sliding back and forth across the page as he read. She tucked her knees to her chest and leaned back into the glass, lay her head against her legs and felt her hair slide from behind her ear and down her side. The palms of her hands were rough against the skin of her shins, the glass painfully cold against her back. She was aware of the breath in her lungs, and, if she kept herself absolutely silent, the breath in his. The imagined texture of the sheets he lay on itched along her fingertips, she clenched her hands. She thought about the cool leather spine of his hardcover, the way it's weight would lay in her palm. She thought about the security of a headboard to lean on, the polished feeling on the back of her neck. A thousand remembered sensations of skin on skin passed before her mind, tangible across her body. Thick yearning clouded her eyes, she shut them, almost in pain, almost in exhilarated joy.

Then she turned her head away, and watched the rain pound the glass.

Makoto

A crisp linen table cloth was spread before her, copious vegetation spilling across it in neat little white stitches. Mako traced one leaf with her finger, feeling the ridge of embroidery floss beneath her finger ebb away as she crossed back onto the cloth. She looked at her place, neatly set with three forks, two knifes and two spoons, and what seemed suspiciously like a single tong spread across the top the plate. She glanced about the room, taking in the fine lace curtains and tasteful rug, the display cabinet showcasing complex, ancient devices all seemingly enhancement for the ocular organs. She looked, in short, everywhere but directly in front of her–there was no need, because what was there hadn't changed for the fifteen minutes since her arrival. She could see it in her mind.

There was a place setting identical to hers, and a chair similar to hers, and nothing else. The chair was empty. He was late.

She frowned, slightly, and tapped one foot in an impatient gesture she'd picked up after years of meetings with high brow politicians that didn't think it worth their time. This time, though, the impatience was blended with a trace of disappointment. _Not really disappointment_, she told herself consolingly, _just annoyance–it's not like I'm on pins and needles waiting to see him._

The door behind her shut with a soft click; Mako jumped three feet in the air.

Angry at the disturbance–as well as her embarrassment–she spun to face the intruder...

...who calmly crossed the room and took his place across from her, apparently oblivious to her suddenly crimson face.

"I apologize profusely for my tardiness," he said, tucking his napkin nicely in his lap without meeting her eyes, "I was caught up in something." Then he raised his head, and she caught the faint twinkle of irony in his gaze, and smiled. Then she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"Do you always talk like that?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Only when I feel like being anal."

She rolled her eyes, but that humor appealed to her–it was hard to keep a straight face when she replied, "Naturally."

He smiled, somewhat cheekily, Mako thought, and spread his napkin in his lap with a good deal of unnecessary bustle; she watched his face and noticed the twinkle in his eye, the quiet, sarcastic humor as he enjoyed his own frivolous action. She smiled, but without the warm feeling his joke had provoked in her a moment before.

Then he looked up and caught her studying him, and she looked away, blushing.

Staring out at the grounds, which were as he had said very beautiful, she fought with an inner dilemma. She wanted to ask why he had been late, but couldn't think of a way to word it that would be unintrusive. Chewing absently on her lower lip, she weighed the importance of being polite with the strength of her curiosity. The seconds fell away and she deliberated, until his voice startled her out of her reverie.

"You look like your thinking awfully hard." She turned to him, blinking in confusion, and was suddenly arrested by the look in his eyes. They were, as she had noticed when she met him, grey, but now had a muted, almost intimate look, like steel by candlelight. Unsure of how to respond to the focus of his regard, she said the first thing on her mind without conscious thought.

"I was just trying to think of a way to ask you what held you up without being rude."

His chuckle matched perfectly the warmth in his eyes, and it made her smile, happy that she had made him laugh, before she realized what he was laughing at.

"I mean...oh, screw it. Why were you late?"

He chuckled again, this time she admired the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners, and spoke, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Curious, aren't we, Ms. Kino?"

She smiled at him in that particular way she had smiled at boys in high school–both mortified at the pathetic flirting and throughly enjoying this exchange. "No, sir, not out of the common way."

"Then can I expect this level of inquisition every time we eat together."

"Only when your behavior merits it."

His eyebrows quirked sardonically at her and the low tones in his voice made her face flush with heat. "Then I will have to make sure it does, to merit your interest."

Again, she could not hold his look, and her eyes retreated to the window.

He watched her with a small smile on his face for several minutes, before touching her arm lightly. She turned with slight alarm, hidden behind a rosy blush and sparkling eyes. He almost missed it, but it's shadow was a scar on her expression, diminishing her glowing vitality. What he'd planned to say left him, and so they sat and stared across the table, and his fingers became a gentle sensation almost like pain against her forearm.

Jadeite

The bar had opened at noon. He'd started his first beer at five past. The hours between his exit from the hotel room and the entrance to the realm of influence had been angry and embarrassed, but now he was inebriated to the point that he could hardly remember what it was to be embarrassed, and numb enough that the anger had faded to a dull buzz. What he could remember, what hadn't faded, though, was the feeling of silky white flesh beneath his hands, the heat of kisses against his face, and black hair that slipped like liquid through his hands. The burning thoughts ate away at his mind–he tapped the rim of his glass asking mutely for another drink.

"I think not." A voice sounded above his head, and he lifted blood-shot eyes to see the fuzzy image a tall blonde looking sardonically down at him.

"Fill me up" Jade mumbled, the words getting lost on the way out of his mouth and tangling in his tongue.

"I said 'no'."

Using his hands as a brace, he tried to assume a tall and imposing height, which proved difficult because it required coordination far beyond his current level. "Bartender! If I say I wanna drink, then I wanna drink!"

"And," now the blonde face was inches from his, forcing him to blink in an attempt to bring it into focus, "if I say I'm not going to serve you than I'm not going to serve you." The eyes peered closer at him, and the head leaned in, and suddenly there were four eyes and two heads, and then Jadeite's headache went off the wall and his head fell–_thunk_–onto the bar.

The head withdrew and he smelt a soft whiff of perfume. _She was wearing perfume_, he thought dully, and the exact shape of that fragrance filled his nose. He shut his eyes tightly only to see her exquisite violet eyes blinking up at him. He swallowed, and beyond the flavor of beer in his mouth, he could taste her.

He groaned.

"Anything I can do for you there, buddy?"

"Unless you can convince a lovely, stubborn woman to fall in love with me, then no."

The bartender smiled gently. This was what usually happened in this bar, far within the realm of experience. "I'm afraid my luck in love isn't much better than your own. Not much I can do with yours till mine's fixed." There was silence, the man seemed currently beyond speech, though whether from intoxication or heart-sickness could not be discerned. "You could tell me about it, though, if you want."

He snorted. "Come on. You're a bartender–you know what it's like. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy gets girl drunk, girl seems to be having a good time, boy screws girl, morning after, girl rejects boy." He marveled for a second at how prettily he could untangle the intricacies of his life–how neatly he could lay them out in front of him, like so many lengths of thread. "Only twist is, this boy and this girl happen to be perfect strangers, and they're married."

If he'd looked at the bartender, he would have seen an impressed expression. _That_ had certainly been a totally unique twist. "Divorce an option?"

"I don't think so. This has been rather forced upon us." Jadeite sighed and let his head fall on his hands, the previously neat threads again a mess.

"By whom?" This case was steadily becoming more and more interesting. Who ever said being a hotel bartender was boring?

Jade leaned in, bloodshot eyes focused and interested. "That's the problem, isn't it? I don't know. All I know is I was living my life just like the next guy and then _boom!_ I'm married and meeting my future spouse at the airport to enjoy two weeks in Hawaii because if I'm gonna get married I might as well have a honeymoon, you know? So, anyway, I meet her and she's a total bombshell. Absolutely the most gorgeous woman I've ever met, this long hair–so sexy, makes you want to twist your hands in it and these legs...So at first she seems a little anal, but I take her to the hotel and we eat and she relaxes and is actually fun, not cracking jokes or anything, but enjoying herself. And then we have sex, and when she woke up this morning it was total chaos."

The bartender stared at him, pitying. "I think you screwed up, buddy."

"Yeah." He stared into his glass, watching the drips of yellow liquid roll back and forth. "Yeah, I did."

Zoicite

Night had come to the city, soft and swift, and the lights shone off a sky heavy with clouds. What stars could be seen looked like ghost cities far away, dimmed by the vibrance of current life. Zoicite stared at a patch of them, remembering idly the astronomy courses he'd taken in his life, and the physics of the burning gasses that threw this pale light across the universe.

He was sitting on the floor of his kitchen. The cool tiles, pressing into the gap between his shirt and his jeans, had been what had woken him, and his first thought was, therefore, that he might want to adjust the situation. That urge left him, though, in the awareness that his skin felt warm, and the sensation was pleasant against the small of his back, a contrast to the heavy heat across his thighs. He yawned, and shifted each of his fingers in turn, enjoying the softness that greeted the motion in his left hand. He blinked, suddenly feeling perhaps a bit too warm, and shifted his legs accordingly.

His action was met with a soft moan that subsided as soon as he ceased the movement.

Blinking again several times, he saw a shape strewn across lap, and saw that it was a woman. She was, he thought, in this golden, streetlamp-light, very beautiful–very innocent. Her mouth was open slightly, and the shadow of her eyelashes made a soft halo of wings in the hollows of her face. Dark hair spilled in a pool across his leg, one slender hand rested on his slumped stomach. Her shirt had been unclasped three buttons down, through the gap he could see the rhythmical rise and fall of her chest. One of her hands was curled within the sphere of his, when he tried to withdraw it, she whimpered again. He smiled and, with his free hand, tucked one strand of hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and she was still again.

He leaned his head back and felt the tickling onset of sleep on the fringes of his consciousness; his last thought before oblivion was 'My, won't this be awkward in the morning?'

A.N. Hope you liked it! Thanks to all the awesome people who've reviewed this so far, it really helped motivate me to finish this. Progress from now on is going to be slow, just like most everybody else, I have school and school related problem. I'm looking forward to the next one, though, and I liked all the stuff going on in this one! Please review!


	8. Transmutation

Contract; Chapter Eight

Transmutation

Ami 

Somewhere water was dripping.

Ami listened to it, half interested, wondering when exactly she'd fallen asleep, and why someone had left the water on. It would be just like Wren, she thought absently, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair from her face and yawned. The yawn cut itself off somewhere in the middle, though, and she was left with her mouth hanging limply open, because a second before she'd opened it she'd noticed there was still some hair in her face. Usually, this wouldn't have bothered her at all, her hair being short and always managing to fall into her eyes. This hair, though, was blonde. Usually, though, the hair in her face wasn't blonde. Ami stared at it for a while, mental processes still dull. Blinking, she began to process that information, noting as she did that she seemed to be thinking extraordinarily slowly this morning; fortunately, she was saved from wondering whether some one had decided to dye her hair in the night by a hand that was defiantly _not_ hers reaching up to push it aside. Ami watched the hand with interest, noting long pale fingers and rather ragged finger nails, then its delicate curve as it secured the hair behind an ear. An ear, further, that was not her own, attached to a head that, logically, also did not belong to her. In the head were a pair of bright green eyes, watching her with a slightly nervous glint–cautious.

It was the caution that she saw there that brought her mind from the slow, sleepy realms of half-awareness to its usual sharp, cutting conscious. She immediately recognized Zoicite's face, and his golden hair tickling her face. She saw that he was afraid of her reaction, and almost as quickly knew why.

She was sitting in his lap, one of his long, thin arms wrapped across her hips, the texture of his jeans pleasant beneath her fingertips. It was as if she had suddenly realized she was sitting in a fire. She yanked herself away from him, standing and spinning at once, so that in a moment she looked down on the man, who stared up at her, his face seeped in a curious regret.

"Ami" he murmured, and his voice was like icy water running down her back–she shuddered, then tightly closed her eyes. Her first instinct, burning anger directed at everything around them, ebbed away and she was left with nothing but cool reason, lightly lapping at her feet. She sighed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped like that. Did I wake you?"

He blinked, confused, then shook his head. "No," he said, voice scratchy, "no, I was already up."

"Well" she sank to the floor across from him, pulling her knees to her chest and leaning her head against the dishwasher, "it doesn't seem to me that you're brilliant idea worked so well."

He smiled ruefully, still nervous, but more relaxed. She noted his bloodshot eyes and inwardly made a note to go buy some tomato juice, a liquid she knew would be necessary from experience curing Rei's and Minako's hangovers. "No, I guess it didn't." He peered at her, and Ami self-consciously ran a hand through her mussed hair. "How bad's your hangover?"

She pulled her back very straight and felt an affronted expression come to her face. "_I_" she said, voice austere, "never drink enough that I _get_ a hangover." He winced at the volume of her protest. She smiled very slightly, quirking one eyebrow, the tight, insulted tension running out of her body. "Yours looks pretty bad, though."

Zoicite sighed and leaned his head back, pulling her gaze to the exposed veins in his neck. "Guess I can't hide anything from the would-be doctor, huh? Probably chapter one of the pre med. text book, _Methods for the Recognition and Treatment of Hangovers_."

She tilted her head softly, still staring at his neck. "How do you know I want to be a doctor?"

He looked at her suddenly–Ami, blushing at being caught staring, looked away. "You told me, remember?"

She blinked, and gave up her determined quest to not look at him again. "Did I?"

He smiled, a little smugly. "Looks like someone can't stand their alcohol."

Ami felt herself turn a pale red as she frantically searched her memory for any hint as to the events of the night before. She knew, logically, that her first instinct–the one that had made her jump startled from his lap–had to be incorrect because of circumstantial evidence. But, other than that reasonable conclusion, she had no way to gauge what they had done last night, what had been said, and, if he remembered, what he knew about her. It put her at a disadvantage, which made her edgy.

Then a very evil smirk came across her face, and she looked at him.

"Well, at least _I_ wasn't dancing on the counters signing '_Bad to the Bone'_ at the top of my lungs."

He blanched. "No I didn't!"

She looked at her companion-turned-victim with a perfectly straight face, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. If he wasn't sure, then he didn't remember everything of the night before. They were even. "Yes, you did. That was a stunning air guitar performance, by the way."

She stood up, ran a hand through her hair, and made her way out of the kitchen, wrinkling her nose at the empty bottles of alcohol strewn everywhere, some dripping dispiritedly into augmenting puddles on the floor.

Behind her, she heard Zoicite get to his feet. "Where are you going?"

"First" she said, stepping carefully around a puddle of Budweiser, "I'm going to find my shoes."

He came up beside her, she felt his arm brush hers for half a moment, before it's natural swing and momentum carried it away. "We look like a right pair of alcoholics, you know."

She was about to respond when she saw one shoe lurking behind a bottle labeled vodka. Hurrying over, she slid her foot in, making a face when she found the toe to be slightly damp. Gingerly, then, she picked up the bottle, and, holding it as far from her body as possible, carried it over to him.

"That's why I'm delegating to you the pleasant privilege of cleaning up."

He sighed. "Should've known."

"If you don't want to clean up a messy kitchen, then don't serve alcohol," she said sweetly, as he made his way over to the sink.

"Where are you going?" he asked, choosing to ignore that last comment.

"The store. We need tomato juice and aspirin, some decent food wouldn't hurt either." Finding her other shoe, she made her way to the door.

At the threshold, she turned back to him, as he scooped some bottles off the floor. "By the way, it wasn't _Methods for the Recognition and Treatment of Hangovers_, it was _Methods for the Recognition and Treatment of Alcohol-related Syndromes._"

Smiling cheekily to herself, she slipped over the threshold, not waiting to hear his response.

Wren 

Wren came alive, awareness dimmed by the contented, fuzzy feeling that had spread throughout her body, after the first good sleep she'd had in weeks. She smiled at the warmth on her bare arm and the yellow of glow of sunshine against her closed eyelids, and raised one hand to her face, brushing a static mess of hair away behind her head. Her fingertips were cold and shocking against her cheek, she blinked, and squinted at the brightness of the day. She swallowed, throat dry, and sat up, head emerging from the pool of sunshine into stinging shade. Shivering at the sudden cold, she slipped her legs off the bed, found her slippers, pulled on a bathrobe and stuck a chopstick through her hair. Prepared thus for the day, she left her tepid refuge behind.

Her guest, as she identified him mentally, was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper with interest. He did not notice her as she entered, and she was allowed to observe him, reflecting on the events of the day before. They had spent it in isolation, never once leaving the house, and seldom leaving each other's company. That would not bothered her, per say, she found him a pleasant companion enough, except that he had hardly spoken two words together to her in that space of time–her throat had begun to get sore near noon because she had been in constant monologue all day. She had told him about every aspect of her life, and he had listened with an interested expression, and made comments when it could not be avoided–which was rare. She could not recall the exact sound of his voice he had spoken so little, in fact, her only memory of him was his smile, when she had amused him. Frowning, Wren moved towards the table, determined for things today to be different.

He heard her approach and looked up. He smiled and gestured toward the chair opposite his. "Good morning."

She smiled, though not as widely as she would have had she not been preoccupied, "Morning."

His eyebrows came together as she sat down, obviously noticing the aberrations in her behavior. "Sleep well?" She glanced up at him, and he grinned. "I need to know. Doctor's privilege."

She smiled more genuinely, and grabbed a piece of toast off his plate. Cramming half of it into her mouth at once, she managed to say, "Fabulous."

"Well, at least we know you're eating well enough." He said, sarcastic, and took a sip of coffee.

She smiled archly, and took another bite of toast.

"Go on, then. Take that piece. I didn't want it anyway."

She smirked around the food, with considerable difficulty, and reached for his other piece of toast. While the bread was in transit, and her mouth was empty, she asked, "How about you, Mamoru, did you sleep well?"

His face was quickly barren as the desert. "Well enough. Did you dream?"

The toast she was holding stopped scant inches from her mouth, and she smiled. "Uh-uh. Not today, buddy." She smirked at the rather shocked expression that crossed his face as she started to speak, it was one she'd seen before often, when dealing with old, male politicians that thought she was a figurehead, successful by of her friends. They were always surprised, to say the least, when she pulled out what Makoto liked to call 'the big guns'. "Yesterday, all we talked about was me, me, me. I feel that I, as your house-mate and future friend, have a right to know something about you. So. Spill the beans, Mamoru, you have in me a willing audience."

His shocked look faded into one of rueful chagrin. "Caught red handed, I'm afraid." He glanced at her, obviously hoping for a reprieve, but Wren maintained a perfectly stoic facade. "Fine. You want to know about me, huh?"

"Yes."

He rubbed his jaw, expression contemplative and introverted, and she realized concretely what had been an abstract imagining until then. This man was an intensely private, introspective person, one who had probably never had relationships as she was used to them. He was very much different from her, more so than she had thought.

"Not much to tell, really. I was born in Chicago and grew up there. When I was old enough, I left and went to Cambridge. I met some friends, got into Med School, life was going along smoothly, until I got a letter with a ticket in it, and next thing I knew, I was here." He watched her very carefully as he spoke–she noted his gaze, and the slight presence there, the need for validation. It was masked very well, behind years of imposed masculine supremacy and assumed, authoritative strength.

His last syllable hung in the air for several moments, and he still looked at her, and she back at him. He knew, she could see in his eyes, that his answer had been far from satisfactory, but she did not quite feel like bringing it up. She was content–surprisingly content–to sit and watch him from across the table, as if this was routine. She was peaceful here, without feelings of happiness or sadness or a need for those sensations. The world had relinquished her, until she was only Wren, sitting across the table from this man.

The oneness with herself, the separation from all the stresses constantly weighing on her person, was pleasant, a suppressed headiness that fizzed beneath the surface of her mind. She smiled.

When he spoke again, he did not look at her, but beyond her, at the view from the window behind her back. "I was born in Chicago. We lived in the city, in a little apartment, that my father had bought because it was close to his practice. He was a lawyer–he met my mother at law school, where she had been studying to become an attorney. When they got married, though, and had me, she gave up on her career and became a stay at home mother, she was with me every day of her life since I was born." His brow wrinkled then, a slight sorrow that was gone before it touched his eyes, and Wren did not notice.

"I have very few memories of my early childhood. My mother smelled always of cherries; she made the whole house smell like an orchard, because we so rarely opened windows or went out. My father, when he came home, brought this exotic, other worldly scent with him, just from spending the day in a court room. I never played outside, but we made up for that. We would play board games, hide and seek, even tag every now and then, and they were never too busy for me. Looking back, I guess I had a hallmark childhood."

He focused on her, very suddenly, and Wren was suddenly embarrassed by his gaze. She tucked her hair behind her ear and studied the table.

"They got divorced when I was seven. No prelude at all, I just came home one day and my mother was gone. A year later, I went back to live with her, because my father was drafted for the war. My mother, at the same time, came down with skin cancer. They both died within a year of my eight birthday."

Wren looked up at him in shock, and saw defiance in his eyes. She felt sick and washed out, the grief that had been his stung her like a slap.

The kitchen was very quiet.

Minako 

He had been gone that morning.

She still couldn't believe it, even now, half the day later, she was still shocked. The moments of the morning still ran through the static of her mind, over and over, like film on a broken reel, skipping and jumping and confused.

She had woken up, though even that was a blurry beginning, for her dreams had been both tortured and vague–the only impression she retained was one of woven spider silk being laid across her face and twined about her neck, the grainy smooth sensation of it barely pressing against her skin. She had dressed in a half-aware stupor, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth and come out the door, to find a silent living room.

It had taken her a moment to realize he was not there. She chewed her lower lip in puzzlement. There was no reason he would not have been home, she could think of nothing, and the cool touch of panic was seizing at her throat. Her breath quickened, it grew raspy, she heard it every time she inhaled, ragged and frightened.

She had calmed herself, told herself not to worry, pressed cold hands against her neck. He probably wasn't up yet, she had only to look for him, he would be there. She had searched, quickly, her hands fumbling against door knobs in the early light. She had called his name–"Kunzite, Kunzite!"–and the echoes through the empty rooms had made her stop, her fear quite tangible then.

He had not appeared. He was gone. There had been no trace of him, except the depression in his bed, which had long before lost its warmth. Minako, shocked, had returned to her bedroom, sat on her bed, and stared at the wall for several long moments. She was not given to panic–and could think of at least ten explanations for why he was gone offhand–but being suddenly alone, her last tie to humanity severed without apparent cause, was frightening. The isolation she felt, being alone in this apartment, had been bad enough when he was there, and now that she was gone, it saturated her, choked her, pressed at her until she thought she would die.

The events of the day before passed before her in a tangled mass–she recalled the want that had pulled her into thick depression–she had spent all day lost in a cloud of twisted desire. He had not noticed–at least, she thought he had not noticed. The choking sensation suddenly intensified as she thought that she might have pushed him to leave.

Outside her room, a door clicked open.

Minako stood, upsetting her balance in her sudden rise, she fell onto her bed, and the springs screeched in protest. She gasped at the fall, lay stunned on the mattress, heard footsteps approaching the room.

Kunzite entered, wearing a neatly tailored suit and blue shirt–his long silver hair had been drawn behind him in a ponytail. She stared up at him from her position on the bed–her own hair spread around her, the silk nightgown she still hadn't changed out of gentle on her skin. He looked down at her, and she could not read his gaze.

He crossed the room, came to the side of her bed and sat down on it, the shift in pressure made the springs squeak and her legs fall against his. Minako's breath rushed out of her at the contact–the first time she'd ever touched him. His pants leg was smooth and rough at the same time, it danced against her skin in counterpoint to the silk. He turned to look at her, and perhaps she saw something of her own expression in his eyes, because the next thing she knew he was over her and his chest bore down into hers. His weight, on her, made her dizzy; pressing against her stomach and chest and one of his large hands exactly on her waist, it clenched about her slim form, she felt the ridges of his fingers through the thin gloss of her gown.

His mouth was near her ear–she felt his breath against her neck several times before he spoke.

"I want you to come to dinner with me tomorrow night."

They were so close Minako knew he had heard her strangled gasp. He lingered against her for several moments more, almost wistfully, before withdrawing. When he did move, it was sudden and brusque and he was at the door before she realized what was happening.

When she saw that he was about to leave her, she called out. "Where have you been all day?"

He didn't look at her as he responded, instead staring straight ahead, and, though she did not think to look at his hands, they were clenched with the effort of self control. His voice, though, was perfectly level and normal. "At work. Where else?"

Jadeite 

The door before him loomed.

Jadeite stared at it reproachfully. He'd never seen a door loom before, and in his present state of intoxication, the effect was heightened and dizzying. He sighed. "Well, if I'm going to get my head bit off, it might as well be while I'm drunk, that way, it won't hurt as much."

He found the handle with little difficulty, and fumbled the key into the lock. The bartender's advice rang in his head–'Just say you're really sorry for what happened this morning, sit her down and have a talk, and for god's sake, please try to be understanding.' He groaned and leaned against the cool wood door. "Understanding my ass" he muttered dully, before pulling the key out and falling into the room.

Cool night air hit him like a slap to the face, he drew back, startled, then paused as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

She had opened the balcony door, and was leaning within the frame, her long, pale legs pulled to her chest in a way that reminded him of a small girl. She was wearing only her under things, which were pale, glossy purple, and glowed faintly in the shifting light. Her hair hung around her face and down her back, silky and shining, pulling the whiteness of her skin into clear relief. Her eyes were wide and she stared at the stars, and the universe was mirrored in her gaze, and her expression was infinite and inscrutable.

Jadeite breathed–gasped, really–and it must have been louder than he thought, because she turned to him. Their eyes made contact, and he felt something of himself slip away, never to be recalled.

Then the moment, the sense of loss, was gone for both of them, and they spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

She sighed and smiled and looked down, an invitation for him to continue.

He took a deep breath, with her in front of him, whatever preparation he had had disappeared, and there was only a longing to make her look at him, because her downcast eyes seemed to scream of pain.

His hand was beneath her chin before he realized what he wanted to do, and his arms around her back and he pulled her toward him with none of the intent of the night before. "Rei." Her name from his lips was like cool fire, it burned and stung and he was instantly addicted to the sound. "Rei." She buried her face in his neck, and her skin was cold against his veins and the smell of her sang to his senses.

Her body shook beneath his hands. He reached across her back and clutched her shoulder, feeling the protrusion of her collarbone beneath his fingers. She was shaking and crying, her tears grainy and soft against his throat. "I promise" she murmured, the words torn from her throat, soft and tortured. "I promise to be–to be what I need to be now..."

"Rei, Rei" his voice sounded alien to his ears; comforting her, he kissed her ear, ran his hands through her hair. What had been innocent was quickly developing another dimension, he held her to his chest, knowing that if she looked at him, he would not be able to resist her. Her choked sobs continued, but she had moved closer to him–now every time her body shook, the movement came to him and he convulsed as well, and the delicious friction was like fire bathing his skin.

She began to pull away, and he let her, knowing that holding her to him any longer would be like keeping a hungry tiger pressed against him. She met his eyes, and he saw in hers what all day he'd thought to have vanished.

She wanted him, and wanted him to want her–needed him, though she would not say it to him, and he would never hear it from her lips. He saw something else, something more shielded in them, and it saddened him. She had been defeated in an inner battle, had lost resolve in the face of her desire, the greatest foe she would ever face. She had been torn from within, ripped herself apart, and her strength, her spirit, had left her. The woman that wanted him now was not the Rei he'd met in the airport, that person had receded for the moment into physical attraction.

He sighed and she kissed him, pushing her body against him in a way different from moments before, thrusting and aggressive.

"You're going to hate yourself for this, darling" he murmured, just before her lips met his.

She didn't say anything, instead pushed him toward the bed that would see so much use with this new Rei. He let her, though a guilty voice whispered that he shouldn't, because he knew she would be torn by her actions and the conflict might permanently break her. He needed her though, as passionately as she did him, and if this was the only way he could get her, he would have to let her, or he himself would not survive.

_When did I give myself_, he wondered, a question that would ache in his mind for long after this encounter, _when did I give myself so completely to her?_

There was nothing but a hot, pressing body to respond to him, lit by moonlight and more beautiful than the stars.

End Chapter Eight 

Whew. That took _forever._ I've been working on this since before I posted the last one, which, I know, was milenia ago. Oh well. Here it is, and longer than most! I'm _so_ happy this is over. Thanks for all the lovely reviews–you don't know how many times I was tempted to give up, and thought of you guys that give me such great feedback, and decided to keep going. You're such an inspiration!! I want to finish this mostly because of all of you.

That being said, I'm not sure how soon another chapter will come out. I'm working on it, of course, but not for a while. I want to do another piece on Hotaru, on something that came up in _Sensation of Death_. I'm not sure whether or not I'll give that precedence over this, but I might. Please don't get frustrated. Things are very busy for me right now. I'll write when I can.

Ta ta

–DF


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